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Book_ >V m TiST & 









































9 

























JOHN CARVER 

A DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS 


BY 

HENRY WILLIAM CHARLES BLOCK. 


Author’s Edition. 


N 


Published also in London by 
Philip Middleton Justice, 55 and 56 Chancery Lane. 












) 




JOHN CARVER 

A DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS 


By HENRY WILLIAM CHARLES BLOCK, 

I I 

SC Louis, Missouri, \J. S. A. 


AUTHOR'S EDITION/ « - 

t j 

- •* - - * « 




Published also in London by 
Philip Middleton Justice, 55 arid 56 Chancery Lane. 


* All Rights Reserved; Including 
Rights of all Public Representation or Performance , 

and Translation. 




THE LIBRARY «F 
0BNGRES3, 
Two Capi ae Receive# 

APR. 14'1902 

COPywaHT ENTRY 

CLASS & XXc Mo. 

/u-7 

copy a 


Entered according to Act of Congress 
the year 1902 , Henry William Cherries Block , 
; z'#‘ £4$ Office of the Librarian of 

••• "Congress , a/ Washington . 





COPYRIGHT NOTICE; AND WARNING. 


This play is fully protected by the copyright law, all require¬ 
ments of which have been complied with. No performance of it 
may be given without the written permission of the author. 


i 




Dedicated to the memory of Gotthold Ephraim Lessing , 
the Interpreter of the Dramatic Rules of Aristotle. 


PERSONS REPRESENTED. 


JOHN CARVER, proprietor of a book¬ 
store. 

MRS. CARVER, his wife. 

LITTLE JOHN CARVER, tlieir son. 
ALFRED RECTOR, an attorney. 
RICHEY, president of the Standard Gas- 
Light Company. 

ELLA RICHEY", his daughter. 

MARY RICHEY, his sister. 

FERRY, a skilled mechanic. 

MRS. FERRY, his wife. 

DEVLIN, alias DICKSON, a real estate 
agent and ward politician. 

MEACHAM, an attorney and political 


partners in a bakery business. 


boss. 

BURKE, 

MEYER, 

WILEY", President of a Street Railway 
Company, and a stockholder in the Stand¬ 
ard Gas Light Company. 


5 



SMITH, editor and proprietor of “The 

Daily Record.” 

«/ 

TOMMY, Ids office-boy. 

PLOWMAN, a blacksmith. 

ANNIE PLOWMAN, Ids daughter. 
TIPPS, a saloon-keeper, and member of 
the City Council. 

O’FINNIGAN, a hanger-on in Tipps’ 
saloon. 

MAGGIE, a servant in the Richey house¬ 
hold. 

JOHANNA WACKER, a servant in 
Meyer’s family. 

MRS. JONES, a washer-woman. 
KETCHUM, captain of the Dickson 
Guards. 

SKINNER, a ward-lieeler. 
GALLAGHER, a policeman. 

A CLERK. 

CITIZENS and POLICEMEN. 

SCENE—A City in the Mississippi Val¬ 
ley. 

TIME—The Present. 




G 



JOHN CARVER. 


ACT I. 

SCENE I —CARVER’S book-store. The 
street entrance is at the rear of the stage; 
there is a door to the right, near the front, 
and shelves filled with books ran along the 
walls. Co miters to the right and to the left, 
and tables in the center, are partly covered 
with books ami papers. At the front of the 
stage to the right, a safe, and a desk, with 
a portrait hanging over it, stand against 
the wall. Several chairs arc placed about 
the store. 

TIME —Early in the evening on a day in 
the middle of March, about two weeks be¬ 
fore the City elections. 

MRS. CARVER sits near the desk, sew¬ 
ing. 


7 



MRS. CARVER. 


Oli dear, oh dear, that mortgage worries 
me;—it doesn’t bother John, and I’m glad of 
it. (Looking at a bouquet of violets in a 
vase on the desk.) These violets he gave 
me to-day. How happy they can make us,— 
little tilings,— 


Enter RECTOR. 

RECTOR. 

Is your husband home, Mrs. Carver? 
MRS. CARVER. 

No, Mr. Rector; lie went to see Mr. Fox 
to pay him the semi-annual interest on the 
mortgage. You know that mortgage— 


RECTOR. 


Yes, 1 recollect; it was an unfortunate 
affair. 


8 



MRS. CARVER. 

I was afraid right from the beginning, 
when young Spenser became a clerk in the 
railroad office, and John signed his bond. 


RECTOR. 

And to redeem Spenser’s shortage, your 
house had to be mortgaged. Let me see, the 
mortgage will run out soon. 

MRS. CARVER. 

On September 15th, but Mr. Fox agreed 
to have it extended. 

Enter ELLA RICHEY, stepping to the 
counter to the left. 


MRS. CARVER 
(to RECTOR). Excuse me. 

RECTOR. 

Certainly. 

9 


MRS. CARVER goes behind the counter 
to the left. 

MRS. CARVER, 

Miss Richey. 

ELLA RICHEY. 

The works of Longfellow, if you please. 
I want them for a birthday present. 

MRS. CARVER 

(taking a book from a shelf, and hand¬ 
ing it to MISS RICHEY). Will this 
answer? 

ELLA RICHEY. 

Yes, Mrs. Carver. (She returns the book 
to Mrs. Carver, who wraps it in paper.) 

MRS. CARVER 

(as ELLA RICHEY places a bill on the 
counter). Thank you. 

Enter MRS. FERRY with a newspaper. 


10 


MRS. PERRY. 


There’s something in “The Daily Record” 
this evening*. It’s too bad. 

MRS. CARVER, 

Has anything happened? 

RECTOR. 

What’s the matter, Mrs. Ferry? 


MRS. FERRY 

(going to RECTOR, the other two Judies 
following ). Just listen. (Reading from 
the newspaper.) “A poor woman named 
Mrs. Jouby, living at 200 River Street, was 
arrested this evening, charged with larcenv. 

07 O *J 

She had a preliminary hearing, and was 
held for the grand jury. Being unable to 
furnish bond for five hundred dollars, she 
was lodged in jail. She had left her four 
weeks old baby in the care of her other 
children, the oldest of whom is but nine 
years of age. Late in the afternoon the 
neighbors heard the cries of the children, 


11 


and when they called at the house, the baby 
was nearly dead.” (In a choked voice.) “A 
couple of ladies took charge of the infant, 
and carried it to the jail.” 

RECTOR 

(taking the paper from MRS. FERRY). 
If you please. (As he reads on, the listen¬ 
ers are visibly affected.) “But the sheriff 
positively refused to allow the child to be 
taken to its mother, claiming that he was 
not permitted to receive infants. The an¬ 
guish of the poor mother was heart-rending. 
The ladies could do nothing, and took the 
baby back to its home, where one of them 
now remains with it. The most distressing 
circumstance is the fact that the child is en¬ 
tirely dependent on its mother for nourish¬ 
ment.” 

ELLA RICHEY. 

How pitiful! 

MRS. CARVER. 

They must be helped. 


12 


RECTOR 

(to MRS. CARVER cos he lays the paper 
on the desk). I’ll go there, and will be back 
shortly. (Bowing) Good evening, ladies. 
(In departing he makes another how to 
MISS RICHEY, which the latter returns. 
Exit RECTOR.) 


A customer enters, and MRS. CARVER 
(joes behind the counter to wait on him. 


ELLA RICHEY 


(to MRS. FERRY), 
tleman? 


Who was that gen- 


MRS. FERRY 


(to ELLA RICHEY), 
attorney. He’s just like 
like him. 


Mr. Rector, the 
Mr. Carver, just 


ELLA RICHEY. 


1 have frequently heard Mr. Carver 
spoken of very highly, especially a few years 
ago, when he was a member of the School 
Board. 


13 


MRS. FERRY. 


They say lie was a very able member of 
the Board, and never hesitated to speak out 
for a rightful cause, and then—his kind 
heart. We found it out when my husband 
was hurt at the factory. There’s no better 
man under the sun, and Mr. Rector— 

ELLA RICHEY 

(blushing). Have you known him long? 

MRS. FERRY. 

As a boy, and I knew his mother also, the 
widow of a Union officer. She passed away 
some years ago. Little Alfred was her only 
child, the idol of her heart, and he was such 
a good son. I see him yet, the little tow- 
head, mamma’s boy I used to call him, be¬ 
cause he was so devoted to her. Swept and 
scrubbed for her; wouldn’t let her do any¬ 
thing when he was around, and always 
eager to do chores for the neighbors to earn 
something for mamma. And such a beauti- 
ful child; such handsome eyes,—even then 
I couldn't help admiring them. 


14 




ELLA RICHEY. 
Did his father fall in battle? 


MRS. FERRY. 

He was wounded, and died soon after the 
close of the war, leaving his family in 
straitened circumstances, but the Car¬ 
vers helped them. They took quite a fancy 
to the boy, and Mr. Carver even sent him to 
college and law-school at his own expense, 
but Mr. Rector paid back every cent with 
interest. 

ELLA RICHEY. 

Please let me have the address of Mrs. 

. Joubv. 

MRS. FERRY 

(taldng the newspaper from the desk, 
and, looking up the address). 200 River 
Street. 

ELLA RICHEY 

(writing the address in a note-hook). 
Much obliged, Mrs. Ferry. (She steps to 
the counter.) 


15 


MRS. CARVER 


(handing MISS RICHEY a package and 
change). Here is your book and the 
change, Miss Richey. 

ELLA RICHEY. 

Thank you. (Exit.) 

MRS. FERRY 

(as MRS. CARVER approaches her). 
Ferry went to the factory after supper, and 
then lie's going to a political meeting; so I 
came to spend the evening with you. 


MRS. CARVER. 


That's right, Mrs. Ferry; make yourself 
at home. 


Enter MEYER and BURKE. 

BURKE 

(to MRS. CARVER). Could we see Mr. 
Carver? 


16 


MEYER 


(to MRS. CARVER). Sliess, could vee 
see him? 

BURKE 

(to MEYER). What’s the use of re- 
patin’? 

MRS. CARVER, 

I expect my husband back any minute. 

MEYER 

(to MRS. CARVER). Boorke, lie vas de 
coontriest man I ever seen, so coontry as a 
mool. 

BURKE 

(to MRS. CARVER). He forgits him¬ 
self entoirely. 

MRS. CARVER. 

Please, gentlemen. 

MEYER 

(to MRS. CARVER). Dis partnership, 
it vas a liell on eart. 


17 


BURKE 


(to MRS. CARVER). Bejabers, it's so. 


MEYER 


(to BURKE). Really?—Vliat a voonder 
shoo gif me right vonst. Dat I must shtrike 
on ret in de calendar. 


BURKE 

(to MEYER). Sure Oi gave iu that you 
were roight only yisterday. 


MEYER 

(to BURKE). Shesderday? 

BURKE 

(to MEYER). Whin you conflssed your- 
silf to be a fool, aud Oi said, you had struck 
the nail on the head all roight that toime. 

MEYER 

(to BURKE). Vliat, vliat, vliaUs dat? 
(To MRS. CARVER.) Vliat I sait, it vas 


18 


someting else, and dat vas dis; namely, dat 
I vas a fool— 

BURKE 

(Uuujhiny, to MRS. CARVER). You 
see. 

MEYER 

(to MRS. CARVER). Dat I vas a fool, 
because I vent into partnership mit such a 
Irishman. 

BURKE 

(to MRS. CARVER). Did you ivir hear 
the loike? (Pointing to MEYER.) A 
Dutchman from wav-back. 

MEYER 

(to BURKE). I don’t deny yet by a 
long shoot dat 1 vas born in Shermany, but 
1 vas now a American citizen, (To MRS. 
CARVER.) and hasn’t Mr. Carver some 
Sherman in him also? 


BURKE 

(to MEYER). Does his name sound 
Dutch? 


19 


MEYER 


(to BURKE). I know dat lie shpeaks 
Sherman. 

MRS. CARVER. 

His mother was born in Germany. 

Enter CARVER, 

MRS. CARVER. 

There he comes. (To CARVER.) These 
gentlemen wish to see yon. 

CARVER 


(to MEYER and BURKE). Good even¬ 
ing, gentlemen, ((riving his wife a rose.) 
Here, my dear. 

MRS. CARVER 

(accepting the rose). Thank you. 

CARVER 

(to MEYER and BURKE). What can 
I do for you, gentlemen? 


20 


MEYER 


(to CARVER). Vee comes to see shoo— 

BURKE 

(to MEYER). Let me spake; sure you 
won’t git it straight. 


MEYER 

(to BURKE). So? 

MRS. CARVER 

(to MRS. FERRY, as MEYER and 
BURKE glare at each other). Let us go 
upstairs. 

MRS. CARVER and MRS. FERRY de¬ 
part through the door to the right. 


CARVER. 

Don’t get excited, gentlemen. (Placing 
two chairs a considerable distance apart.) 
Be seated. (Seating himself beticeen 
them.) Now, what is it? 


21 



BURKE. 


\Y e come because— 

MEYER. 

I slipoke de first, Mr. Carver. 

BURKE 

(to MEYER). Oi have the same might 
to spake. 

CARVER. 

I’ll get two straws; let him speak first, 
who draws the longer one. 

BURKE. 

All might. 

MEYER. 

Go ahead. 


CARVER 

(taking two straws from a broom stand¬ 
ing near, and letting MEYER draw). You 
drew the longer straw, Mr. Meyer; please 
proceed. 


22 



MEYER. 


Me and Boorke, vee vant to go out of 
partnership in our bakery-biziness, and I 
vill tell shoo how it vas, and dat vas dis; 
namely, vee can’t agree mit anonder how to 
divide. Yee vanted to go to de coort, but 
somebodv salt dat vee better see shoo first. 
Boorke don't know vhat he vants. He’s so 
coontry as a mool all de vhile. 

CARVER. 

Is that all? 


MEYER. 

Sliess, Mr. Carver. 


CARVER 

(to BURKE). What have you to say? 

BURKE. 

Sure, nothing much, except that ivery- 
tliing is the other way. 


23 



CARVER. 


There ought to be a way of settling your 
differences. Let us begiu with the horses. 
How many have you? 

BURKE. 

Two, sir, a black and a bay. 


CARVER 

(getting two pieces of paper and giving 
one each to MEYER and BURKE). Jot 
down what you are willing to pay, compare 
prices, and let the highest bidder have the 
horses. If your bids are the same, then de¬ 
cide by drawing straws. 

BURKE. 

Bejabers, ohm willing to troy it. 

MEYER 

(getting up and seating himself near 
BURKE). Come on, Boorke, let’s see vonst 
vhat vee can do. 


24 


MEYER and BURKE' begin to converse 
with each other in a subdued tone, writing 
and comparing, nodding to each other sev¬ 
eral times, and on one occasion drawing 
straws. 

Enter RECTOR, 

CARVER 

{shaking hands ivith RECTOR). Hello, 
Rector! 

RECTOR. 

I was here a little while ago to say that 
a number of citizens of the Fourth Ward 
desire to nominate you to-niglit as the Inde¬ 
pendent candidate for the City Council. 

CARVER. 

I heard of it,—but what’s the matter with 
you, why don't you run? 


RECTOR. 

Because I’m considering an offer to enter 
the law firm of Marshall, McNally & Rich¬ 
ter of New York. 


25 



CARVER 


{pacing the floor in front of RECTOR, 
with hands folded behind his back, and look¬ 
ing down reflectively). Ye—es, ye—e—s. 

RECTOR. 

You are familiar with the deplorable 
state of affairs in our ward. 

CARVER. 

Yes, yes! Well, Rector, if the nomination 
is offered to me I will accept it, although I 
have a presentiment that, if elected, my po¬ 
sition will not be an easy one. 

RECTOR. 

Your friends will be delighted, Mr. Car¬ 
ver, and there’s another thing. As I was 
waiting for you, Mrs. Ferry came in with a 
copy of “The Daily Record,” containing an 
article about a poor woman. {Taking the 
paper from the desk and pointing to the ar¬ 
ticle.) Here it is. 


26 




CARVER 

(after reading the article). What have 
you done? 

RECTOR, 

I ascertained that Mrs. Jouby conducts a 
boarding-house, and that her arrest was 
caused by a boarder, who claims that she 
took forty dollars from his trunk. I am 
convinced that the charge resulted from 
spite, because she resisted the scoundrel's 
approaches. Her husband, a quarry-man, is 
in the hospital, haying been injured by a 
]iremature explosion. 


CARVER. 


Did you secure her release? 

RECTOR. 

On my representation the judge reduced 
the amount of her bond to one hundred dol¬ 
lars. Could you let me have the money? 


27 


CARVER 


(going to the door to the right, opening 
it, and calling up). Where is the key to the 
safe, my dear? 

MRS. CARVER 

(from above). Ell be down in a minute. 

CARVER, 

1 shall certainly he delighted to help the 
poor woman. 

Enter MRS. CARVER, MRS. FERRY 
and LITTLE JOHN CARVER. 

CARVER 

(to MRS. CARVER). Please give Mr. 
Rector one hundred dollars. It is for the 
bond of Mrs. Jouby. 

MRS. CARVER 

(talcing a key from her pocket, and going 
to the safe and, opening it). Gladly. (Talc¬ 
ing oat the money and giving it to REC¬ 
TOR.) Is this enough? 


28 


RECTOR 


(putting the money into his note-book ). 
Yes, Mrs. Carver, thank you. (To CARVER 
as he departs.) I may be a little late at the 
meeting. 

CARVER. 

All right, Rector. 

Exit RECTOR. CARVER (joes to 
MEYER and BURKE, who are still seated 
close to each other, and in earnest conversa¬ 
tion. 

BURKE (as he and MEYER rise, to 
CARVER). Sure, we’ve agreed about the 
horses and several other things. 

MEYER 

(to CARVER). Vee are talking now of 
our shop, and vould like shoo to help us find 
out vliat it is vort to-morrow. 

CARVER 

» 

(to MEYER). With pleasure. 


29 


MEYER 


(to CARVER). And because de biziness 
is putty goot all de vhile, me and Boorke 
almost link it vas best to slit ay partners yet. 

CARVER 

(to MEYER). So much the better. 

Enter FERRY. 

FERRY 

(to CARVER). I came to go to the 
meeting with you. 


CARVER 

(to FERRY). We still have a little 
time. Are you acquainted with Mr. Meyer 
and Mr. Burke? 


FERRY 

(shaking hands with MEYER and 
BURKE). Of course I am, of course I am. 

CARVER 

(as several customers enter). Excuse 
me, gentlemen. 


30 


MR. and MRS. CARVER go behind the 
counter to the left, to wait on the customers, 
LITTLE JOHN CARVER endeavoring to 
assist. MRS. FERRY goes to a counter to 
the right, and turns over the gages of a 
booh. 

BURKE. 

What meeting did you refer to, Ferry? 

FERRY. 

We want to put up an Independent can¬ 
didate against Dickson. 

BURKE. 

What have they agin Dickson? 

# 

FERRY. 

His notorious record. He was elected to 
the City Council from the Second Ward 
once before, and soon became a high flyer, 
spending money freely. After his term ex¬ 
pired, he got down at the heel, but, six 
months ago, he removed to this ward, and 
opened up a real estate office. 


31 


MEYER. 


Vlien lie comes in a saloon, lie sets up de 
drinks for effervbodv. 

t/ v 


FERRY. 

Yes, lie treats by tlie wholesale, and 
through boodle secured not only the demo- 
cratic nomination, but even the nomination 
of a weak man as his republican opponent. 

MEYER. 

It vas a shame. 

Enter DICKSON. He wake,s a purchase , 
and then walks to a table in the center of 
the stage. Looking at a book here and 
there, he gradually approaches. FERRY, 
MEYER and BURKE, and endeavors to 
catch a part of their conversation, occasion¬ 
ally casting a vicious glance at CARVER. 

FERRY. 

Carver will probably be the Independent 
candidate. 


32 



MEYER. 
Donnerwetter uoch mal! 


BURKE. 

The divil you say. 

DICKSON now stands near FERRY, 
MEYER and BURKE. Although appar¬ 
ently absorbed in a booh 9 he pays close at¬ 
tention to the conversation. 

MEYER. 

Carver, lie vas a tip-top school director; 
day called him de vatch-dog of de treasury. 


BURKE 

(to MEYER). He was in the School 
Board whin the Lincoln School was built, 
wasn't he? 


MEYER 


(to BURKE), 
ground for it. 


Sliess, and lie bought the 


33 


BUlvKE 


(to MEYER). Oi ricollect there was 
some talk at the toime that Carver paid too 
much. 

FERRY 

(to BURKE). Bosh! Only four weeks 
later an adjoining lot brought five dollars 
per foot more. The false report came from 
Boggs, who is now president of the Board 
of Assessors. He had offered a lot at a 
much higher price, and because Carver pre¬ 
vented him from defrauding the School 
Board, Boggs has been his mortal enemy 
ever since. 

BURKE 

(to FERRY). Oi niver knew that Boggs 
was such a low-down feller. 


MEYER notices DICKSON, and makes 
a sign to FERRY, whereupon the latter and 
BURKE turn towards DICKSON, who, for 
a second , bends over the book. Closing it 
he walks out of the store. 


34 


The sneak! 


FERRY. 


MEYER. 
L)at mean look! 


FERRY. 


He's as mean as lie looks. Did yon hear 
how he treated Mrs. Plowman? 

MEYER, 

No; vliat vas de story? 

FERRY. 

Shortly after he started his real estate 
office, Dickson had Mrs. Plowman evicted 
for being behind with her rent. She was a 
poor, consumptive seamstress, and lived in 
one of Richey's tenement houses. When 
Carver heard of it he paid the rent, and had 
the furniture taken back into the house. 

BURKE. 

Bully boy! 

35 



MEYER. 

His heart, it vas on de right slipot all de 
vliile. 

FERRY. 

Upou the death of Mrs. Plowman soon 
afterwards, the Carvers took her little 
daughter into their family. 

CARVER 

(coming from behind the counter). IPs 
time to go to the meeting. 

FERRY. 

Fm ready. 

c/ 

BURKE. 

Sure, Oi’ll go along too. 


MEYER, 

So vill I. 

CARVER, 

The more the merrier. 


LITTLE JOHN CARVER. 
Papa, may I go? 


36 


MRS. CARVER 

(to CARVER). He knows bis lessons. 


CARVER. 

Come along, my boy. (To MRS. CAR¬ 
VER.) We won’t be gone long. 

MRS. CARVER. 

All right, dear. 

CARVER, FERRY, MEYER, BURKE 
and LITTLE JOHN CARVER depart, sa¬ 
luting the ladies and the latter responding . 

MRS. CARVER 

(coming from behind the counter). Sit 

down. 

MRS. FERRY 

(as both seat themselves near the desk). 
I didn’t know that Mr. Carver was of Ger¬ 
man descent on his mother’s side. 


MRS. CARVER, 

Her family came from Germany in 1833, 
and settled on a farm. 


37 


MRS. PERRY. 


Ferry’s mother also came over about that 
time, and I’ve often heard her talk of her 
early life in the County of Donegal; how 
she stood weeping on the deck of the ship 
that took her away, and looked back yearn¬ 
ingly at the heath-clad hills of dear old Ire- 
land, disappearing in the distance. 

MRS. CARVER. 

Yes, it must be a sad thing to leave one’s 

* 

native land. 

MRS. FERRY. 

Please tell me something more about your 
husband’s mother. 

MRS. CARVER. 

She married John Carver, of Puritan 
stock, the owner of a neighboring farm. 


MRS. FERRY. 

And in what year was your husband 
born? 


38 


MRS. CARVER, 


In 1848, and a year later his father fell a 
victim to the cholera. Then his mother 
rented the farm and returned with him to 
the home of her parents. (Pointing to the 
portrait hanging over the desk.) That is 
her picture. 

MRS. FERRY 

(rising and looking at the portrait). A 
lovable face. 


MRS. CARVER 

(as MRS. FERRY resumes her seal). A 
true index of her character. Let me relate 
an incident, showing how conscientious she 
was. A relative in Germany sent her some 
lace, enclosed in an envelope, and Mrs. Car¬ 
ver, having occasion shortly afterwards to 
go to the City with her son, then about 
eleven years of age, went with him to the 
Custom House and paid the duty on the 
lace. 

MRS. FERRY. 

No wonder her son became a good man. 


39 


MRS. CARVER, 


He was barely twelve years old when she 
passed away, and shortly afterwards, his 
grandparents also having died in the mean¬ 
time, he came to this city, and lived for a 
number of years with the family of his 
guardian, who invested in county bonds 
whatever property had been left to my hus¬ 
band. At the age of twenty-one Mr. Carver 
received the bonds, and also an accounting, 
which he found to be correct, except that 
the taxes had not been paid. And will you 
believe it, Mrs. Ferry, after selling the bonds 
for about five thousand dollars, the first 
thing he did was to pay the back-taxes. 

. MRS. FERRY. 

Just like his mother. 


MRS. CARVER, 

And with the balance he purchased an in¬ 
terest in my father’s book-store. 

Enter ANNIE PLOWMAN through the 
door to the right . 


40 


ANNIE PLOWMAN. 


Good night, auntie. 

o / 


MRS. CARVER 

(kissing ANNIE PLOWMAN). Good 
night, darling. 

MRS. FERRY 

(kissing ANNIE PLOWMAN). Good 
night, pet. 

MRS. FERRY 

(as ANNIE PLOWMAN 
through the door to the right). 
child. I presume nothing has 
heard of her father. 

MRS. CARVER, 

Nothing since he left two years ago for 
Leadvilie, Colorado, to work in the silver 
mines. (Sadly) Like many others out 
there, he may have reaped disappointment. 

MRS. FERRY 

(us MRS. CARVER wipes a tear away). 
Why so sad, Mrs. Carver? 


departs 
A sweet 
yet been 




41 


MRS. CARVER. 


Eight years ago my brother James organ¬ 
ized a mining company to develop claims 
near Butte, Montana, and father took most 
of the stock. 

MRS. FERRY. 

Didn’t they find mineral? 


MRS. CARVER, 

They made several strikes, but it only cre¬ 
ated false hopes, inducing the stockholders 
to make additional outlays. Father lost 
everything, and my husband advanced 
almost all the money which he had saved, 
so that father’s debts could be paid. 

MRS. FERRY. 

Is your brother still in Montana? 

MRS. CARVER, 

Yes, Mrs. Ferry, and twice my husband 
has sent money to enable him to come home, 
but it was returned. lie works as a com- 


wr 


42 


mon miner, still spending the greater part 
of his earnings and spare time on those 
claims. (Sadly) The poor boy. 


MRS. FERRY. 

Your brother may yet have luck, Mrs. 
Carver. 

Enter LITTLE JOHN CARVER. 


LITTLE JOHN CARVER. 

Mamma, papa is nominated. A whole lot 
of people were there, and when Mr. Rector 
spoke papa’s name in his speech, you 
should have heard the cheering. After the 
chairman said that papa had been nomi¬ 
nated, he had to make a speech, and as soon 
* 

as he was through, a crowd got around 
papa, shaking hands with him, and cheering, 
and for all I know, they may be cheering yet. 
And now I’ll have to tell Annie about it too. 
(Exit through the door to the right.) 


Enter CARVER, LECTOR, FERRY and 
MEYER. 


43 


CARVER 

(as MRS. CARVER and MRS. FERRY 
rise). Here we are again. 

MRS. CARVER. 

Johnny told ns of your nomination. (Go- 
in rj with her husband some distance to the 
left, while the others converse in subdued 
tones.) John,—I'm afraid—the way Dick¬ 
son looked at yon. (Wiping away a tear.) 
I can't help it;—I beg yon to be careful. 

CARVER 

(soothingly). There’s no reason for your 
anxiety, my dear. 

Enter BURKE. 


BURKE 

(shaking hands with CARVER). Oi 
couldn't pass by without congratulatin' you. 


CARVER, 

Thank you, Mr. Burke. (To all present.) 
Sit down. 


44 




All scat themselves around CARVER at 
the front of the stage. 


RECTOR. 


The enthusiasm at to-night’s meeting was 
very encouraging. 

Enter CART. KETCHUM. He steps to 
the counter to the left, and CARVER gets 
up to trait on him. 


BURKE. 

Oi’m willing to bet me bottom dollar that 
Mr. Carver will win in a walk. 

FERRY. 

1 hope so. 

MEYER. 

Mr. Carver, he mate a tine speech dis 
evening. He must have been to a goot 
slikool. 

FERRY 

(to MEYER). He went to one of the 
public schools in this city. 


45 


CARVER 


{from behind the counter to the left). 
Yes, Ferry, and I remember that in the be- 
ginning I had considerable trouble. 

MEYER 

(to CARVER). And vhat vas de trooble? 


CARVER 


{to MEYER). To get over the habit of 
thinking in German while speaking Eng¬ 
lish. 

MEYER 


{to CARVER). And how did dat 
come? 


CARVER 


{to MEYER). My early instruction at 
home, in the country, had been almost en¬ 
tirely in German. 


MEYEI 


V 


(to CARVER). I alvavs tought dat Eng- 

/ t< O <7 

lish, it vas de easiest language of all. 


46 


BURKE 


(to MEYER). Sure, Meyer, for fellers 
loike you, who manufacture their own Eng¬ 
lish. 


MEYER. 

Shoost look at him. 

CARVER steps from behind the counter 
and CART. KETCHUM turns and listens 
to the conversation. 

CARVER 

(returning and resuming his seat , to 
MEYER). No, Mr. Meyer, it is not easy to 
speak and write good English. 

MEYER 

(to CARVER). But don’t shoo believe, 
Mr. Carver, dat our shildren ought to learn 
Sherman too, dat is, if day have a sliance? 

CARVER 

(to MEYER). Most assuredly, Mr. 
Meyer; but it should never be at the expense 
of English. 


47 


MEYER 

(to CARVER). Veil, yell, it vas vonst 
so all cle vliile as it vas, and dat vas dis; 
namely, dat vee nefifer get too old for it, to 
find out dat vee can learn soineting new yet. 

Exit CART. KETCHUM. 

BURKE. 

Unless we're (With a side-look at 
MEYER.) loike some fellers, preferrin’ to 
be after remainin' stupid in spoight of their 
ignorance. 

MEYER 

(rising and endeavoring to keep calm, to 
BURKE). And in slipite of all vhat slioo 
say dare, I vont do shoo de favor to get mad. 
(Angrily) Donnerwetter! (Endeavoring to 
keep calm.) No I vont get mad; vhat shoo 
sait, it vas too foolish. 

BURKE 

( rising , to MEYER). And, bejabers, Oi 
won't git mad at invthing a feller loike you 
moiglit be after savin’. (Angrily) Sicli a— 


48 


CARVER 


(rising and touching BURKE’S arm). 
Please let the incident be closed. 

CARVER, MEYER and BURKE resume 
their seats, the latter shaking his head at 
MEYER. 

MEYER 

(to CARVER). And liow long dit you 
go to de pooblic slikool? 

CARVER 

(to MEYER). About three years. My 
guardian then placed me in a dry goods 
store, Mr. Arnold, one of my teachers, how¬ 
ever, continuing to give me private lessons 
twice a week for two years longer. From 
English translations he taught me Greek lit¬ 
erature, and through him I came in contact 
with the exalted sentiments of Socrates, 
which taught me, that it is mainly love of 
justice, that awakens and cultivates in man 
all those noble traits, making him worthy 
of the name of man; that its presence con- 


49 


tinually lifts up the soul towards true great¬ 
ness, as its absence drags the soul down to 
smallness, meanness and baseness. 


MEYER 

(to CARVER). And so Mr. Arnold, he 
vas de man trough whom shoo learned dose 

o 

tings, shoo say? 


CARVER 

(to MEYER). Yes, Mr. Meyer. 

MRS. CARVER 

(to CARVER). And you know it was 
also through Mr. Arnold tnat you met 
father, and obtained a position in his book¬ 
store. 

CARVER 

(with a smile, to his icife). And it goes 
without saying that I have never regret¬ 
ted it. 

BURKE 

(I'ising and shaking hands with CAR¬ 
VER, the others rising also). Good night, 


50 


Mr. Carver. (Placing his hand on CAR¬ 
VER’S shoulder.) The first toime Oi iver 
saw you was wliin you stopped a pair of run¬ 
away horses hitched to Mr. Richey’s car¬ 
riage, containing his wife and little clioild. 

RECTOR 

(to BURKE). Mr. Richey, the president 
of the Standard Gas Light Company? 

BURKE 

(to RECTOR). Yes, sir. 

MRS. CARVER 

(to RECTOR). The child was the young 
lady who was in the store this evening. 

RECTOR. 

Indeed? * 

CARVER. 

It's not worth talking about. 

BURKE. 

I renumber the horses were runnin’ 
madly, and you were dragged half a block 
before you could stop them. 


51 


MRS. CARVER 

(to CARVER). I was a scliool-girl when 
it happened, and, for a long time after¬ 
wards, the heroes of my novels assumed 
vour features. 

CARVER. 

But, my dear— 

7 t/ 

MRS. FERRY 

(to MRS. CARVER). Don’t it still hap¬ 
pen? 

MRS. CARVER 

(with a smite to MRS. FERRY). Mrs. 

Ferry— 

«/ 

MEYER 

(tan(filing). Ha, ha, ha! After folks 
vas married so long! 

BURKE 

(to MEYER). Don’t he after judgin’ 
others by your own experience. 

MEYER 

(angrily). Shoost look at him. Vat he 
talks togetter dare, it goes into de ash-gray. 


52 




(Calming down.) No, I sait vonst dat I 
von’t get mad, and I von't neider. (To 
BUIiKE.) But yliat for must shoo kick all 
de vliile vlien I make a little fun vonst. 
Shoo know right veil vliat I mean in earnest, 
and if shoo don't, den I vill tell shoo vliat it 
vas, and dat vas dis; namely, vlien T go 
avay, and come home, I gif my Gret'l a kiss 
all de vliile, and if a man vas not so goot to 
his vife vlien she has many wrinkles in her 
face, as vlien she has none yet, den such a 
man, he should shame himself someting till 
vay down into his boots. So,— (Raising his 
voice.) dat vas vliat my real meaning vas, if 
shoo vant to know it, and dat vas vliat I say, 
—I,—Meyer. 

(The curtain drops.) 


53 



ACT II. 


HOENE 1—Library in Richey's house. A 
door to the right opens into a hall, and a 
door to the left into an adjoining room . 

A book-case stands against the rear icall, 
and, another against the left wall to the 
front. A table stands in the center towards 
the front, a sofa to the right of it, and a desk 
to the left of it. There is a telephone to the 
right, towards the front. A number of 
chairs are placed in different parts of the 
room. 

TIME —The forenoon of the following 
day. 

HI CHE Y sits at the desk writing. 

Enter MAGGIE presenting a card. 

RICHEY. 

All right, tell him to come in. 

Exit MAGGIE. 


54 



RICHEY 

(to himself). He’s early; lie must have 
some important news. 

Enter MEACHAM. 

MEACHAM. 

Good morning, Mr. Richey. (Seating 
himself near the desk.) They had a meeting 
in the Fourth Ward last night, and nomi¬ 
nated Carver as the Independent candidate. 

RICHEY. 

The devil you say. 

MEACHAM 

(laughing). It’s a good thing we fixed 
the principal papers. They say nothing, but 
“The Daily Record” has a big notice. 

RICHEY. 

Have you got it with you? 

MEACHAM 

(handing RICHEY a newspaper). Yes, 
sir. 


55 


RICHEY 


(reading). “Rally of the Independents 
of the Fourth Ward. John Carver is their 
candidate for the City Council. His Ring¬ 
ing Address.” (Reading a few words in a 

♦ 

mumbling voice.) Disgusting! (Reading 
aloud.) “A member of the City Council 
should be honest.” (Reading again a few 
words in a mumbling voice.) Pshaw!— 
(Reading aloud.) “Every intelligent man 
is able to discriminate between good and 
bad municipal measures, if he really wants 
to. Weighty questions will come before the 
next City Council in connection with the ex¬ 
piration of the City lighting contract on 
January 1st. In deciding them, due cogni¬ 
zance should be taken of the fact that the 
cost of production of gas and electricity has 
decreased materially.” (To MEACHAM.) 
The damn fool! (After looking down reflec¬ 
tively for a moment.) You’d better fix “The 
Daily Record” also. 

1/ 

MEACHAM. 

Its circulation is too small to harm us. 


56 



RICHEY 


(reading aloud). “If elected I will not 
endeavor to gain favors at the expense of 
honor and self-respect.’’ (To MEACHAM.) 
Let Dickson promise all the more in his 
campaign speeches. You write them for 
him, don’t you? 


MEACHAM. 

* 

Of course, 1 do; for although Dickson is 
able enough, and gives me some good points, 
I'd be afraid to let him write a speech. He 
might overreach himself, and make a mess 
of it. 


RICHEY. 

Has Carver any debts? 


MEACHAM. 

Fox lias a four thousand dollar mortgage 
on his house. 

RICHEY. 

When will it be due? 


57 


MEACHAM. 


On September fifteenth. 


RICHEY 


{going to the telephone). We must get 
hold of it. {Telephoning) “The People’s 
Street Railway Company.”— 

Tell Mr. Wiley to come to Mr. Richey’s 
house. {Resuming his seat.) Carver’s an 
infernal nuisance. 


MEACHAM. 

Our expenses in the Fourth Ward will in¬ 
crease. 


RICHEY. 

It doesn’t matter as long as we beat Car¬ 
ver. We must beat him. Rv the way, do 
vou need monev? 

MEACHAM. 

About a thousand dollars to water the vot¬ 
ing cattle in some of the wards. 


58 



RICHEY 


(going to the telephone). It won’t do to 
let them get dry. (Telephoning) The Stan¬ 
dard Gas Light Company.—I want to speak 
to Dodd, the treasurer.—Hello, Dodd! This 
is Mr. Richey. Get a thousand dollars from 
the bank. (To MEACHAM.) How do you 
want it? 

MEACHAM. 

In small bills. 


RICHEY 

( telephoning ). In small hills, Dodd. 


RICHEY 

(resinning his seat). Call for the money 
at my office at twelve o’clock. 

tj 


MEACHAM. 

Very well, sir. 

RICHEY. 

Can we drum up any charges against Car¬ 
ver ? 


59 




MEACHAM. 


Maybe through Mullally, the district as¬ 
sessor for the Fourth Ward. At the last 
election Carver helped to defeat him for the 
legislature, and he’ll jump at a chance to 
get even. 

RICHEY. 

Naturally. 

MEACHAM. 

And our friend Boggs, the president of 
the Board of Assessors, is also an enemy of 
Carver. 

RICHEY. 

What’s the trouble? 

MEACHAM. 

Carver interfered with Boggs, when he 
tried to get the best of the School Board in 
a real estate deal, notwithstanding the fact 
that Boggs offered the old fool a slice of the 
profits. 

RICHEY. 

I'm glad to hear this. 


60 


M EACH AM. 


And now I'll have somebody write a letter 
to “The Democratic Headlight” and “The 
Morning Republican”, accusing Carver of 
fraud in his tax-returns, and then Boggs can 
delegate Mullally to investigate. 

o t/ o 


RICHEY. 

Em afraid that the tax-returns are cor¬ 
rect. 

M EACH AM. 

Very likely they are; but that cuts no fig¬ 
ure. 

RICHEY. 

The plan seems feasible. 

MEACHAM 

(rising). I’ll begin at once. (Depart¬ 
ing) Good day, Mr. Richey. 

RICHEY. 

Good day. 

Exit MEACHAM through the door to the 
right. 


61 * 


RICHEY 


(reflectively ). Everything was so well 
arranged. Curse Carver. 

Enter WILEY. 

WILEY 

(shaking hands with RICHEY and seat¬ 
ing himself). Wliat is it, old man? 

RICHEY. 

Carver is the Independent candidate for 
alderman in the Fourth Ward. 

WILEY. 

I heard of it. 

RICHEY. 

Fox holds a four thousand dollar mort 
gage on his house, due on September fif¬ 
teenth. You must buy the mortgage. 

t/ o o 


WILEY 

(going to the telephone). I’ll telephone 
immediately. (Telephoning) City Bank.— 
Is Mr. Fox there?—Yes.—Hello, Fox; this 


62 




is \\ iley. What interest do you pay on de¬ 
posits?—Yes, on time deposits.—Only three 
per cent? That’s very little.—Say, Fox, it’s 
for Mrs. Wiley. I gave her four thousand 
dollars, and now she wants me to invest it 
for her.—Oh I guess a note or a mortgage. 
—You say you have a mortgage for four 
thousand dollars at six per cent?—When is 
it due?—On September fifteenth?—On what 
property?—On Carver’s house? Who is 
Carver?—Oh, Carver the book-man.—Yes, 
I know the property. I'll take the mortgage, 
and pay the interest up to date.—All right, 
Fox, I'll be there in an hour. 


IvICHEY 

(as WILEY resumes his seat). I’m cer¬ 
tain that we'll get twenty Indians into the 
next City Council. After they’re elected, 
they'll be dirt cheap too, you know. We’ll 
own them body and soul. Their votes for 
our gas-contract won’t cost over five hun¬ 
dred dollars apiece. 


63 











WILEY. 

Twenty out of thirty is a good working 
majority, and will secure the renewal of our 
gas-contract with the City. 

RICHEY 

(rubbing his hands gleefully). And of 
our yearly profit of three hundred thousand 
dollars,—net—from the city. 

7 e/ 

WILEY. 

For ten years longer.—in addition to our 

t/ O / 

profits from private consumers. 

RICHEY 

(continuing to rub his hands). Gratify¬ 
ing,—very gratifying, indeed. But there 
will he lively kicking on the part of the citi¬ 
zens. 

WILEY. 

Damn the citizens. 

RICHEY. 

We have nothing to fear because both 
candidates for the mayoralty are on our 
side. 


64 




WILEY. 


Yes, no matter how the election goes, 
we’re absolutely certain of the unqualified 
support of the next City Administration. 
By the way, how much have we expended so 
far? 


RICHEY 

(taking a paper from a drawer and hand¬ 
ing it to WILEY). This is a complete list 
of our expenditures up to date. 

WILEY 

(reading aloud). “Paid by Wiley for The 
Standard Gas Light Company to the Demo¬ 
cratic City Central Committee, $4000. Paid 
by Richey for the Standard Gas Light Com- 
pany to the Republican City Central Com¬ 
mittee, $4000.” 


RICHEY. 

You know that was the money for the 
campaign funds. 


65 


WILEY 


(reading aloud). “Paid out by Meacliam 
for work done at the Democratic Conven¬ 
tion $5500. Paid out by Smiley for work 
done at the Republican Convention $5000.” 


RICHEY. 

Yes, that’s what it cost us to have suitable 
mayoralty candidates put up. 

WILEY 

(reading aloud). “‘The Morning Re¬ 
publican’ $5000; ‘The Democratic Head¬ 
light’ $5000; ‘The Independent’ $3000; ‘The 
Argus’ $2000; the Committee on Lighting 
$6000.” 

RICHEY. 

That, you know, is the committee of the 
City Council, appointed a year ago to inves¬ 
tigate the relative merits of gas and electric 
lighting. The six thousand dollars worked 
like a charm; the committee never got ready 
to file a report. (Laughing) New details, 


66 


that liacl to be looked into, were continually 
coming up. 

WILEY. 

Who’s the chairman? 

RICHEY. 

Tipps of the Second Ward, and we must 
see that he and the other members of the 
Lighting Committee are re-elected and re¬ 
appointed, so that there will be no difficulty 
in haying its report deferred until the end 
of September. Then they may submit any¬ 
thing, and even advise that the call for the 
lighting bids be taken in hand. There will 
be no fear of competition, because nobody 
can put up a lighting plant in three months. 

WILEY. 

Certainly not. (Continuing to read 
a toad. ) “Meacham $5000; Smiley $5000.” 


RICHEY. 

You know Meacham, the Democratic 
boss, lias to work the Democratic end of the 

-r 


67 




election racket, and Smiley, the Republican 
boss, the Republican end. 


WILEY. 

And if the Democrats carry the City 
Council again— 

RICHEY. 

Then, of course, well retain Meacham as 
our chief-rascal, but if the Republicans win, 
weill have to look to Smiley to engineer our 
gas-contract through the City Council. 
However, we made the agreement with both, 
that they shall each get another five thou¬ 
sand dollars after the renewal of the con¬ 
tract. 

WILEY. 

That’s right, Richey; I heartily approve 
of it, 

RICHEY. 

If our terms with the two rascals were not 
exactly the same, it might give rise to per¬ 
sonal rancor between them, and lead to un¬ 
foreseen difficulties. 


68 


WILEY 


(looking at the paper). Yes, yes, that’s 
so. (Reading aloud.) “Paid by Meacham 
to Todley, the Democratic candidate for the 
City Council in the First Ward, $500; to 
each of the two Democratic Central Com¬ 
mitteemen, $250, $500. Paid by Smiley to 
Tipps, the Republican candidate for the 
City Council in the Second Ward, $1000; to 
each of the two Republican Central Commit¬ 
teemen $400, $800."— (After reading on in 
silence for a moment.) In the Fourth Ward 
the expenses amount to thirty-five hundred 
dollars. (Whistling in astonishment.) 
That’s too much. 


RICHEY. 

See how it’s itemized. 

WILEY 

(reading aloud). “Paid out by Meacham. 
Dickson’s salary for six months at $150 per 
month, $900; Dickson's expenses for six 
months at $100 per month, $600; Dickson, 


69 



for extra election outlays, $1000; each of 
the two Democratic Central Committeemen 
$-250, $500. Paid out by Smiley. Each of 
the two Republican Central Committeemen 
#250, #500.” {To RICHEY.) Was it nec¬ 
essary to buy uj) the Republican committee¬ 
men of the Fourth Ward also? 

RICIIEY. 

Yes, Wiley; that money was given to them 
for exerting their influence in getting the 
Republicans of the ward to nominate a 
weak candidate in opposition to Dickson. 
The two committeemen did nobly. 

WILEY 

{sarcastically ). And you people did no¬ 
bly also in scattering money right and left 
in the Fourth Ward. 

RICHEY. 

But it was well spent because we need 
Dickson. He is the biggest rascal in town. 
His real name is Devlin, and he served two 
years in Sing Sing. 

v o O 


70 


WILEY. 


And must get into the City Council by 
hook or crook. (Looking at the paper.) 
Fortunately in the other wards the expenses 
are less,—the entire total is forty thousand 
dollars. (Returning the paper to RICHEY 
and rising.) It is no more than right that 
my street-railway company should stand a 
part of these expenses, because it will also 
be benefited by them, and be able to obtain 
franchises for a number of new branch lines. 


RICHEY. 


Yes, Wiley, I thought you would look at it 
that way. 


WILEY. 


We'll refund a third of the outlay under 
all circumstances, and I hope that our po¬ 
litical arrangements will run smoothly. 


RICHEY 

(rising). Most assuredly they will. As 
I told you before, we’re sure of getting 


71 



twenty Indians into the City Council. Of 
course, some of the Central Committeemen 
are obstreperous, and a number of Inde¬ 
pendent candidates are in the field. (Reflec¬ 
tively) Carver is the most dangerous one, 
but luckily we’ve fixed things so that his de- 
feat is assured. 


WILEY 

(/aughing ). Yes, money makes the mare 
go. (Departing through the door to the 
right.) Ta, ta, old man. 

RICHEY. 

So long, Wiley. 

RICHEY closes the desk, and is about to 
leave the room. 

Enter ELLA RICHEY through the door 
to the left. 

ELLA RICHEY. 

I’m so glad to find you here, papa. I’ve 
got a favor to ask. 


72 


RICHEY. 
Be quick about it. 


ELLA RICHEY. 

A poor quarry-man named Jouby was 
hurt some time ago. 

RICHEY. 

Very interesting news. 

ELLA RICHEY. 

He will soon be well enough to do light 

o o 

work. Please give him some position—at 
the gas-works. 

RICHEY. 

Make the gas-works an asylum for in¬ 
valids? 

ELLA RICHEY. 

His family,—they are so poor. 

RICHEY. 

The rule is that our superintendent en¬ 
gages the workmen. 


73 



ELLA RICHEY. 


Every rule lias an exception; please, papa, 
for my sake. Think of mother and the many 
hearts she made liappy. 


RICHEY 

{gruffly). Don't get sentimental. 
(> Softly) I’ll talk to the superintendent; 
(Gruffly ) but don’t take this as a criterion 
for the future. 

ELLA RICHEY 

(kissing her father). Oh, papa! Thank 
you ever so much. 


RICHEY. 

Tut, tut,—that'll do. (Departing) Both¬ 
eration ! (Exit through the door to the 
right.) 

ELLA RICHEY. 

How glad I am, and I'm sure, Mr. Rector 
will be pleased too. 


74 



Enter MARY RICHEY through the door 
to the left. 

MARY RICHEY. 

Wliat was the matter, Ella? Was your 
father scolding? 

o 

ELLA RICHEY. 

No, auntie; he was as nice as could be, 
and promised to give employment to Mrs. 
Jouby’s husband. 


MARY RICHEY. 

The poor woman you told me about? 

ELLA RICHEY. 

Yes, auntie; I called on her this morning, 
and a few minutes after my arrival Mr. Rec- 
tor came, and informed Mrs. Jouby that her 
case had been dismissed. Tears came into 
her eyes, and she was hardly able to thank 
Air. Rector. 

MARY RICHEY. 

I can well imagine that. 


75 


ELLA RICHEY. 


And then Mr. Rector escorted me home, 
and I invited him to call. (Blushing) It 
was no more than right, (Confusedly) to,— 
yes, you know, to reciprocate his courtesy. 

MARY RICHEY 
(anxiously ). He's a stranger. 

ELLA RICHEY. 

But a true gentleman; and so consider¬ 
ate. Why, auntie, he even brought toys for 
the children. He Avas so nice,—the way he 
spoke to them all,—it was awfully sweet,— 
I could have kissed— 

MARY RICHEY 
(in astonishmen t ). What ? 

ELLA RICHEY 

(confusedly). The children, I mean the 
children. 

(The curtain drops.) 


76 






SCENE II —A hall with a platform to the 
right , and rows of chairs to the left. The 
entrance to the hall is at the rear of the 
stage. 


TIME —In the evening , a week later. 

A meeting is in progress. WILEY, M EA¬ 
CH AM, DICKSON, and two other citizens, 
occupy the platform, WILEY presiding. 
People continue to come in, some seating 
themselves and others standing about. 

DICKSON 

(reading from a manuscript). “Having 
pointed out that every candidate on our 
ticket is worthy of your support, I will now 
make a few remarks bearing on the alder- 
manic election in our own ward.” 


Amidst cheers and accompanied by a 
crowd, the Dickson Guards enter. They are 
preceded by a drummer and a fifcr, and led 
by CAPTAIN KETCHUM. They carry 
torches and two transparencies with the in¬ 
scriptions “Dickson Guards" and “Dickson 


77 


and Reform" respectively. After parading 
through the hall they Hue up before the plat¬ 
form. 

CAPTAIN KETCHUM 

(after the music ceases). Three cheers 
for Dickson! Hip, hip!— 

THE CROWD 

(responding). Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! 

WILEY. 

I herewith thank the Dickson Guards for 
honoring us with their presence, ana pro¬ 
pose that we give them three rousing cheers. 
Three cheers for the Dickson Guards! Hip, 
hip!— 

THE CROWD 

(responding). Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! 

WILEY. 

Please come to order now, gentlemen, Mr. 
Dickson lias something important to tell 
you. 

tv 


78 



DICKSON 


(conii iiii in(j to read from the manu¬ 
script ). “More honor would redound to me, 
if 1 liad a more honorable opponent than 
Carver, the tax-dodger.” ( Cheers ) 


A VOICE FROM THE CROWD. 

No such thing,—Carver ain't a tax- 
dodger. 

o 

MEACHAM 


(rising). If our friend read the newspa¬ 
pers lie would know that they have thor¬ 
oughly ventilated this matter. 

CD «/ 


Laughter and cheers as Meacham resumes 
his seat. 

DICKSON 

(continuing to read from the manu¬ 
script). “Carver is not an ordinary tax- 
dodger, he is a wholesale one; for, according 
to the reports submitted by Mullally, the 
district-assessor of the Fourth Ward, to Mr. 
Boggs, the President of the Board of Assess- 


79 



ors, the value of Carver’s furniture is four 
hundred and fifty dollars, or three times the 
amount put down in his own perjured state¬ 
ment, and I venture to state that he will not 
escape condemnation before the bar of pub¬ 
lic opinion.” (Cheers) “You will also rec¬ 
ollect, my fellow citizens, that through Car¬ 
ver's intrigues the School Board paid a 
double price for the lot on which the Lincoln 
School stands.” 


A VOICE FROM THE CROWD. 


It ain’t so. 
reproach. 


Carver’s reputation is above 


MEACHAM 


( rising). Let me tell my unsophisticated 
friends, that often the man with the reputa¬ 
tion of a saint has the character of a devil, 
and a tendency to fish in the dark. 


Cheers and laughter as MEACHAM sits 
down. 

DICKSON 

(continuing to read from the manu¬ 
script). “I leave it to your judgment, my 


80 


fellow-citizens, whether Carver went into 
this swindle with any other motive than to 
participate in the plunder.” [Cheers) 
“Carver was even a Jonah to his own father- 
in-law, for through Carver the old gentle¬ 
man was reduced from affluence to poverty. 
Grief and distress brought him into a pre¬ 
mature grave.” 

A VOICE FROM THE CROWD. 

The old man’s money was sunk in mines. 

e/ 


MEACHAM 


(rising). Carver lost it in mining specu¬ 
lations, did he? 


A VOICE FROM THE CROWD. 
Carver had nothing to do with it. 


MEACHAM 

(angrilg). That man lias been bought. 

SEVERAL VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 
Rut Him out! Put him out! 


81 


ME AC HAM. 

I give the disturber fair warning not to 
interrupt us again. Carver’s doom is sealed, 
no matter wliat his henchmen may say or 
do. A man, who robs his own father-in- 
law, is not worthy of public trust. (Cheers 
as MEACHAM sits down.) 


DICKSON 

(continuing to read from the manu¬ 
script). “In spite of the fact that money 
came to Carver from various crooked chan¬ 
nels, he didn't have the ability to retain it. 
Carver’s signal failure as a business man is 
emphasized by the fact that his property is 
mortgaged to the utmost limit. He is, in 
fact, a bankrupt. Now, my fellow citizens, 
do you want a man who is not able to take 
care of his own affairs, to administer yours? 
Without unduly flattering myself, I can say, 
that, in a comparatively short time, I have 
built u}) a large business right here amongst 
you, and that my intimate connections with 
the most prominent business men of the city 
cannot fail to inure to your interest. You 


82 


are aware that I am no novice, but was lion : 
orecl with an election to the City Council 
once before. My record is open and I stand 
upon it.” (Cheers) “There is another mat¬ 
ter, which will especially interest my Ger¬ 
man friends, and it is that Carver is down 
on the Germans, and has often been heard 
to remark that the teaching' of the German 
language in this country is superfluous and 
even detrimen ta 1. ” 


CAPT. KETCHUM. 


Yes, sir; it’s true, 
myself. 


I heard Carver say so 


JM EACH AM 


(rising). There, my fellow-citizens, you 
see for yourselves that the last statement of 

t/ 

Mi*. Dickson is just as reliable as all of the 
other statements which he has made, and 
that it is fully corroborated by the testi- 
mony of one of the most reputable citizens 
of the Fourth Ward, Capt. Ketclmm of the 
Dickson Guards, an organization whose 
members are actuated by honorable and 

t/ 


83 


patriotic motives, and who, muter the able 
leadership of their gallant captain, will 
march to victory on the day of the election. 


A VOICE FROM THE CROWD. 

Three cheers for the Dickson Guards. 
Hip, hip!— 


THE CROWD 

(responding). Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! 

CART. KETCHIJM. 

Three cheers for Mr. Dickson. Hip, 
hip!— 

THE CROWD 

(responding, as DICKSON bows). Hur¬ 
rah, hurrah, hurrah! 

MEACHAM. 

Please come to order now, fellow-citizens, 
and let Mr. Dickson proceed with his inter¬ 
esting discourse. (He sits down.) 


84 



DICKSON 


(continuing to read from the manu¬ 
script). “It is needless for me to state that 
I am a staunch friend of the Germans. In 
fact I would give everything I have for the 
ability to read the works of the great Schil¬ 
ler and the brilliant Goethe in the original.” 
(Cheers ) u I also desire to tell you, my fel¬ 
low-citizens, that I have maintained a digni¬ 
fied silence in regard to some of the thread¬ 
bare lies trumped up against me, knowing 
that malediction is the fate of every honest 
man. But when Carver over-steps all 
bounds of decency, when he out-lies the liar, 
it becomes my duty to defend myself, and 
to show him up in his true light, as a most 
contemptible man, wallowing in the cesspool 
of vile vituperation. Like the cuttle-fish he 
darkens the water with his lying charges in 
order to conceal his own iniquities. Like a 
cowardly assassin he endeavors to stab me 
from behind a woman; not a living woman, 
oh, no,—he stabs me from behind the shroud 
of a woman mouldering in her grave. 


85 



A VOICE FROM THE CROWD. 


It’s a lie! 


MEACHAM 

(rising). What do you get for disturb¬ 
ing the meeting? 

o o 

SEVERAL VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 
Put him out! Put him out! 

MEACHAM 

(dis' a tumult arises and a man is 
evicted). Don’t be too hard on him. ( After 
the tumult has somewhat subsided.) IPs 
time for Carver’s hirelings to find out that 
there is no room for them here. Nobody 
need tell us that Carver don't do the dirty 
work himself; of course not, lie's too cow¬ 
ardly for that.—He instigates others to do 

e/ O 

it for him. 


DICKSON 

(continuing to read from the manu¬ 
script as MEACHAM resumes his seat). “I 
refer to the story connecting me with the 

e/ O 


86 



eviction of Mrs. Plowman. As the agent of 
Mr. Richey, her landlord, it was my duty to 
inform him that she was behind with her 
rent, and I pledge my word of honor that 
through the mistake of a clerk she was 
evicted without my being notified. As soon 
as I heard of it I rushed to Mrs. Plowman’s 
assistance, but Carver had already preceded 
me. It is cheap to gain popularity by pos¬ 
ing as a benefactor. Moreover, Mrs. Plow¬ 
man was an attractive woman, and state¬ 
ments come from reliable sources that Car¬ 
ver put her under obligation to him in order 
to get her into his power. What else can be 
expected of a man, who abuses the members 
of his own family? Poor Mrs. Carver has 
to toil in the book-store from morning until 
night, and even upon his little boy he heaps 
work bevond his tender years. It is bur- 
lesque to hear some people talk of Carver’s 
charity; calling him the personification of 
lechery and meanness would be more cor- 
rect.” ( Cheers) “He has the audacity to 
tell his friends to put in their best licks 
to have him elected, and not to ask for fa- 


87 


vors in return, because lie stands on too high 
a level. But 1 say, my fellow-citizens, that 
a level above one of plain gratitude is the 
level of a hog, and a decent man should be 
ashamed of it, I rejoice that I am made of 
different stuff. I shall always stand by my 
friends, and be ready to exert my political 
influence in their behalf.’ 1 

Amidst cliecrs DICKSON sits down. 
Mu sic by the fife and drum band. 

WILEY 

(after the music ceases). Fellow-citizens, 
I trust that the more carefully you weigh 
what Mr. Dickson has told you, the more you 
will deem it your duty not only to vote for 
him yourselves, but to get every one of your 
friends to vote for him also. Mr. Dickson is 
no tax-dodger, and will work for the best 
interests of the city. ( Cheers . DICKSON 
speaks a few words to WILEY in a subdued 
tone.) Fellow-citizens; it affords me great 
pleasure to announce that Mr. Dickson ten¬ 
ders a cordial invitation to all present to 


88 


remain and accept liis hospitality. In ad¬ 
journing' the meeting, I propose three hearty 
cheers for our next alderman. Three cheers 
for Dickson. Hip, hip!— 

THE CROWD 

( responding ). Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! 

Amidst cheering and music beer kegs are 
rolled into the hall, and two trestles placed 
to the left of the stage, boards being laid 
across them, and the crowd thronging 
around the improvised counter; DICKSON 
accompanies WILEY and MEACHAM to 
the door, and after he shakes hands with 
them they depart. He then returns to the 
counter, where the crowd has already com¬ 
menced drinking. 

Enter FERRY, BURKE, and MEYER, 
with a number of citizens, including the 
man who was evicted from the meeting. 
They do not mingle with the DICKSON 
crowd, but take positions towards the front 
of the stage to the right. 


89 


MEYER. 


Shoost look at dem. 

FERRY. 

Disgraceful! 

BURKE 

(to the man, who wax evicted). Beja¬ 
bers, wliat was the use in waitin' till they 
kicked you out? Sure, you missed it in not 
tillin' ns sooner, so we could have been here 
in toime to cram the lies down their throats. 
And, begorrah, it ain't too late to be after 
doin' it yit. (Looking around.) Where's 
Rector? Didn't he come along? (To the 
man who wax evicted.) Go to his house and 
git him, and jist hurry up and be quick 
about it. 


Exit in haste the man who was evicted. 


MEYER 


(to FERRY). Vat day sait, it von't 
amount to much no-how. 


90 


FERRY 


(to MEYER). Lies often repeated, are 
apt to mislead. 


BURKE 

(with clenched fists ). It would do me 
good to break the faces of some of the infer- 

o 

nal scoundrels. 

A VOICE FROM THE DICKSON 

CROWD. 

Hurrah for Dickson. Flip, hip!— 

THE DICKSON CROWD 

(responding as DICKSON doffs his hat). 
Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! 

DICKSON. 

Take another one, boys. 

THE DICKSON CROWD 

(touching glasses with DICKSON). 
Here’s luck, here’s luck! (They drink.) 


91 



DICKSON. 


Fill ’em up again. 


CAPT KETCH UM 

(touching DICKSON on the arm and 
walking with him to the front of the stage 
to the left, while the DICKSON crowd con¬ 
tinues drinking). Excuse me, Mr. Dickson, 
you know Pm the captain of the Dickson 
Guards, and it was me who told you that 
Carver Avas running down the Dutch. 

o 


DICKSON 

(shaking hands with CAPT. KETCH- 
UM). Pm glad to see you here, Captain. 
What is it? 


CAPTAIN KETCHUM. 

Between us,—the hoys are beginning to 
grumble. 

ij 


DICKSON. 

What's the matter, Captain? 


92 


CAPT. KETCHUM 


(making a significant motion with his 
forefinger and thumb). That, Mr. Dickson, 
—that’s wliat’s the matter. 

DICKSON. 

But, my dear Captain, let me tell you— 
CAPT. KETCHUM. 

Never mind, Mr. Dickson, that’s all right; 
just let me have the spondulix, and a little 
more than the last time, if you please. The 
boys are getting ugly, and it won’t pay to 
be stingy you know. 

DICKSON 

(giving CAPT. KETCHUM a roll of 
bills). Here, Captain. 


CAPT. KETCHUM. 

You’re a gentleman, Mr. Dickson; yes sir, 
and I have always taken you for one. 


93 



CAPT. KETCHUM returns to the bar, 
followed by DICKSON. 



X 


{intercepting DICKSON). Could you 
let me have a couple of dollars to set 'em up 
for the boys in my neighborhood? 

e/ e/ O 


DICKSON 

(giving SKINNER 'money). To be sure, 


Mr. 


SKINNER 


(to DICKSON). My name is Skinner. 


DICKSON 

{to SKINNER). Happy to meet you, 
Mr. Skinner. 




(to DICKSON). You'll get a bumper 
majority, Mr. Dickson. (He returns to the 
bar .) 


94 


DICKSON 


(noticing the CARVER crowd, and ap- 
p reaching them). Glad to see you, gentle¬ 
men. How do you do, how do you do? Come 
to the bar. 

FERRY. 

We don’t want anything; we only came to 
look on. 


DICKSON 

(going to the bar). Come on, gentlemen; 
come on. 

MEYER 

( to BURKE). Not a drop. 

BURKE 

(to MEYER). Sure, Oi niver thought 
you could stand to see so much beer runnin’ 
down the wrong throats. 


MEYER. 

Shoost look at him. 


95 


DICKSON 


Return* with two henchmen, all three car¬ 
rying glasses of beer, which they force into 
the hands of FERRY, MEYER, BURKE, 
and others of the FERRY crowd, DICK¬ 
SON retaining a glass for himself. 

DICKSON. 

\ 

Take ’em, take ’em ! Go to the bar. Help 
yourselves. 

FERRY 

(as he and his friends hold the glasses 
without drinking, to DICKSON). We only 
came to look on. 


DICKSON 

(to FERRY). You surely won’t refuse 
to take a drink with me. (Endeavoring to 
touch FERRY’S glass.) Your health, my 
friend! (As FERRY withdraws his glass.) 
What’s the matter? 


FERRY 

(angrily) . The devil is your friend, not I. 


96 


Enter KECTOl!, joining the CARVER 
crowd. 

The dispute has attracted a member of 
persons from the bar; they remain standing 
at a little distance from the CARVER 
crowd. 

DICKSON 

(shaking his fist at FERRY). What do 
you mean? 

FERRY. 

That we don’t sell our votes for beer. 


FERRY 

throws his glass at DICKSON’S feet, his 
friends following his example. For a mo¬ 
ment DICKSON is speechless with anger 
and astonishment. 


DICKSON 

(scrutinizing FERRY more closely). 
Now I know who you are. I saw you at 
Carver's store a week ago. 


97 


VOICES FROM THE DICKSON CROWD. 


Kick ’em out, kick ’em out! 

RECTOR. 

That gentleman is right. (Pointing to the 
bar, where drinking is still going on.) There 
lies the root of the evil. ( To the DICKSON 
crowd.) That’s the way unscrupulous men 
begin to steal your rights and undermine 
your liberty. 


DICKSON 


(sneer in gig, to RECTOR). Ah, ha! I 
see Carver’s right bower had to come also. 


RECTOR. 

I don’t deny that I am Carver’s friend; I 
glory in his friendship. 

DICKSON. 

In the friendship of a tax-dodger? 


98 


BURKE 


(attempting to strike DICKSON). Oi'll 
smash your nose, you lyin’ spalpeen. Take 
that! 


VOICES FROM THE DICKSON CROWD 

(as DICKSON dodges the blow and sev¬ 
eral of his henchmen make a rush towards 
FERRY and his friends). Kick ’em out, 
kick ’em out; 


By this time the entire DICKSON crowd 
have approached, the greater part, however, 
standing about and looking on passively. 

FERRY. 

Stand together, boys. 


BURKE 

(as the CARVER crowd force their op¬ 
ponents back to the left of the stage). The 
cowards! Fellers, who sell thimsilves for 
beer, have lost their manhood. 

L. of 0 . 99 



MEYER 


(with uplifted fiats), Slierman fists are 
vort someting too yet! 

RECTOR 

(mounting a chair as the fighters disap¬ 
pear to the left of the stage, where, unseen 
by the audience, they keep up a noisy tu¬ 
mult). Enough, my friends, enough. Don’t 
resort to unnecessary violence. Let us go. 

SEVERAL VOICES FROM THE CAR¬ 
VER CROWD 

(as FERRY, BURKE, MEYER, and 
other friends of CARVER who participated 
in the fight, reappear from the left, breath¬ 
less and panting, BURKE swinging a torn- 
off coat tail). Rector is right. Come on, 
come on! 

BURKE 

(to RECTOR). Dickson escaped me 
again, (Holding up a coat-tail.) and sure, 
this is all that remained of him, as he 
jumped out of the window. 


100 



RECTOR 

(to BURKE). Yes, Burke, I saw it. (To 
the CARVER crowd.) Come on, boys, come 
on. 

MEYER 

(as the CARVER crowd leave the hall). 
Hurrah for our Sliohn Carver. Hip, hip!— 

THE CARVER CROWD 

(responding). Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! 
(Exeunt the CARVER crowd.) 

A VOICE FROM THE DICKSON 

CROWD 

(as DICKSON and his henchmen reap¬ 
pear on the stage front the left). Hurrah 
for Dickson! Hip, hip!— 

THE DICKSON CROWD 

(responding as DICKSON doffs his 
hat). Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! 

(The curtain drops.) 


101 



ACT III. 


8CENFJ I—Library in Richey's house. 
The library is lighted , but the hall to the 
right is dark. 

TIME —Early in the evening on a day 
near the end of May. 


ELLA RICHEY in street apparel, and 
RECTOR with hat in hand, have just en¬ 
tered. 

ELLA RICHEY. 

Rest a little, Mr. Rector. 


RECTOR. 

Thank you, Miss Ella. 

ELLA RICHEY. 

Auntie is in the parlor with a friend. 
(Drawing two chairs to the table.) I can't 
tell you how much 1 enjoyed our visit to the 


102 




Art Gallery this afternoon, and now I’ll 

7 

show yon some of my own drawings. 

RECTOR. 

I shall be delighted to see them. 

ELLA RICHEY 

(taking off her hat and wraps, and plac¬ 
ing them on a chair). This is papa’s sanc¬ 
tum. (She goes to the hoolc-case, takes out 
a number of drawings, places them before 
RECTOR, and sits beside him.) I’m so 
fond of sketching and drawing. 

RECTOR 

(looking at some of the drawings). You 
are qnite an artist, Miss Richey. 

(As ELLA RICHEY wipes a drawing 
with her handkerchief.) Did I soil it? 

ELLA RICHEY. 

No, Mr. Rector; only a mark from Mr. 
R idler’s cigar. 


103 


RECTOR. 


\ 


Mr. B11 Her? 

ELLA RICHEY. 

Yes, I showed him the drawings a few 
days ago—Papa wanted me to. 


RECTOR 

(with a sigh of relief). Oh ! 

ELLA RICHEY. 

Before we were half through he com¬ 
menced to whistle,—I heard it distinctly. 


RECTOR. 


To whistle 


9 


ELLA RICHEY. 

Yes, and he looked awfully bored. 

/ «/ 


RECTOR. 

Is it possible? 


104 




ELLA RICHEY 


(in a semi-serious tone). Yes, Mr. Rec¬ 
tor, and just think of it, papa wants me to 
marry him. 


RECTOR. 

Does lie—? Do you—? Oil, Miss Ella— 

ELLA RICHEY. 

What, Mr. Rector? 

RECTOR 

(looking at a drawing). This is grand. 
Sunrise on Mount Washington. 

ELLA RICHEY 

(getting closer to RECTOR and pointing 
to the drawing). Here is the inclined rail¬ 
road. 


RECTOR. 


Rather risky. 


105 





nt 


ELLA RICHEY. 

Tlie track is provided with safety appli¬ 
ances. 


RECTOR. 


That lessens the danger. Nevertheless, 
if the train took a toboggan slide— 

ELLA RICHEY. 

If we were on it, 1 would cling (Blushing 
and with a smile to RECTOR.) to some¬ 
body. 

RECTOR. 

To me? 

ELLA RICHEY 

(confusedly). I don't know,— (De¬ 
murely) perhaps, 


RECTOR 


(joyfully). Ella! Would you cling to 
me for life? 


ELLA RICHEY. 


Forever. 


106 





RECTOR 

(kissing ELLA RICHEY’S hand). Ella! 

ELLA RICHEY 

(looking up to RECTOR, tenderly). Al¬ 
fred ! 

RECTOR 

(embracing ELLA RICHEY, jubilantly). 
My own! 

ELLA RICHEY 

(placing her hand on RECTOR’S lips). 
Hush ! Not so loud. 

RECTOR 

% 

(in a half-suppressed voice). From the 
first moment I saw you, my whole existence 
has been absorbed in my love for you. And 
now,— (With emotion.) to know that you 
love me,—to hold you in my arms,— 

7 9 / 9 ./ 7 

ELLA RICHEY 

(ecsta ti ca lly). A1 f red! 


107 



RECTOR 

(kissing ELLA RICHEY, rapturously). 
My love, my life! 

ELLA RICHEY disentangles herself 
from RECTOR’S embrace, andl runs to the 
door to the right. 


ELLA RICHEY 

(looking into the hall-way). I hope no¬ 
body heard us. (Returning) Please, Al¬ 
fred,— 

RECTOR 

(clasping ELLA RICHEY’S hands, in a 
half-suppressed tone). I shall strive,—It 
shall be my- aim— 


ELLA RICHEY 

(interrupting RECTOR, anxiously). But 
what will papa say? 

RECTOR 

(with a sigh). Ah,—yes,—what will he 

say? 

«/ 


108 







ELLA IlICHEY. 

He must have heard of you. 

RECTOR, 

But I’m afraid in a way—IT1 tell you 
some other time. 


ELLA RICHEY 

( anxiously ). Please, Alfred, tell me 
now. 

RECTOR 

'{hesitatingly). I only wanted to say,— 
that your father,— 

ELLA RICHEY 
[anxiously ). What, Alfred? 


RECTOR 

{hesitatingly). Oh,—you see before 1 
speak to your father, it may be best for me 
to make more headway in my profession. 


109 




ELLA RICHEY. 


Papa wasn’t at tlie top of the ladder when 
he got married. 


RECTOR. 

For your sake, dearest, I must wait until 
I obtain a better position, so that your 
father will more readily give his consent. 
Nothing could induce me to cause you the 
least unhappiness by creating ill-feeling be¬ 
tween you and your father. I will work 
hard, and the thought that you return my 
love will give me strength to do my utmost, 
and—to wait. 

ELLA RICHEY. 

Do as you think best, Alfred. Your hap¬ 
piness is mine. 


RECTOR 

(kissing ELLA RICHEY). Dearest! 
ELLA RICHEY. 

But, Alfred, something tells me,—I feel 
that there is still another reason why you 


no 





hesitate to speak to papa now. Surely, you 
should let me share all your thoughts. 

t/ o 

RECTOR. 

1 will tell you, love. Your father was 
opposed to Mr. Carver’s election to the City 
Council, and I was an ardent supporter of 
Mr. Carver. 


ELLA RICHEY 

(joyfully ). I love you all the more for 
it, Alfred, for having stood by your friend, 
and if I tell papa how kind Mr.Carver has 
been to you, then, oh I’m sure, then papa’s 
prejudice will give way to admiration. 


RECTOR. 


But 


ELLA RICHEY 

(sobbing). And you know, papa wants 
me to marry that horrid Mr. Buller. I de¬ 
spise him. He thinks he can marry any 
woman because he has money,—and lie’s 
such a boor. 


ill 




RECTOR, 


Then there must be no delay. I will see 
your father at once. 


ELLA RICHEY. 
This evening? 


RECTOR, 

Yes, dearest. 


The clock strikes eight. 


ELLA RICHEY 

( anxiously ). It’s time for papa to come 
home; don’t let him find you here now. I’ll 
get him into a good humor first. 

Both rise and go to the door to the left , 

RECTOR, 

Rut if your father objects—? 


ELLA RICHEY 

(pointing to the door to the left). I’ll 
be standing just inside of that room, ready 


112 




to run in here and kiss away all objections 
from papa's lips before lie has a chance to 
make them. 

RICHEY 

(angrily in the hall to the right). Why 
is there no light in the hall? 


ELLA RICHEY 

(in an anxious voice). That's papa's 
voice. (Opening the door to the left.) I 
will let you out by the side-door. But you 
must come back soon. 

RECTOR 

(kissing ELLA RICHEY as lie departs 
with her through the door to the left). 1 
will, dearest. 

Exeunt ELLA RICHEY and RECTOR. 

Enter RICHEY. In a fit of anger he 
throws his hat and cane on the floor. In 
going to the desk he stumbles against a 
chair near the table. 


113 


RICHEY 


(kicking the eliair oat of the way and 
upset tiny it). Damnation! (In kicking 
away the chair he brushes against the table, 
causing some of the drawings to fall on the 
floor.) Damn this rubbish! (Hitting at the 
desk.) Everything upside down. 


Enter MARY RICHEY through the door 
to the right. 


RICHEY 

(angrily). Why is there no light in the 
hall? 


MARY RICHEY. 

It escaped my notice; I had a visitor. 


RICHEY 

(as MARY RICHEY arranges the 
chairs). The room looks like a pig-pen. 
(Pointing to the drawings.) Take away 
that rubbish. 


114 


MARY RICHEY 


(picking up the drawings and patting 
them into the hook-case). They are Ella’s 
drawings. 

RICHEY. 

Take them away. (As MARY RICHEY 
takes up RICHEY’S hat and cane, and 
walks silently out of the room.) I’ve had 
enough annoyance already. (Striking the 
desk until his fist after MARY RICHEY’S 
departure.) Beyond endurance! 

Enter ELLA RICHEY through the door 
to the left. 


* ELLA RICHEY. 
Good evening, papa. 


RICHEY 

(gruffly). Wli at do you want? 


ELLA RICHEY 

(kissing her father). Kiss you, papa. 


115 


RICHEY 


(more tenderly, as ELLA RICHEY 
strokes his hair). The more you little ones 
act like babies, the less you can be trusted. 
Perhaps you want to palm off some invalid 
on me again. 


ELLA RICHEY. 


No, papa, no invalid, I’m ever so happy to 
assure vou. 


RICHEY. 


So you’re happy? 


ELLA RICHEY. 
Yes, papa;—oh, so happy. 


RICHEY. 

Well, I know something that will make 
you still happier. 

ELLA RICHEY. 

What, papa? 


116 



RICHEY. 

Duller writes that lie'll be here again 
shortly. 

ELLA RICHEY. 

That doesn't interest me, papa. 

RICHEY 

(shaking his finger at his daughter, plug- 
[ally). You can’t deceive your old father. 
I noticed liow nice you were to the gentle- 
man, and when you're married to him— 

ELLA RICHEY. 

I will never marry him, papa. 

RICHEY 

(pinching his daughter's chin). That's 
the way you girls all talk; don't want to 
marry, don’t want a husband, in spite of 
the fact that every blamed one of you would 
rather marry to-day than to-morrow. 

ELLA RICHEY. 

Yes, papa, if the right one comes. 


117 



RICHEY. 


Maybe he has come already. (Pinching 
his daughters cheek.) Ah, ha! I see he has. 
Your blushes betray you. Perhaps it wasn’t 
so long ago either that you were showing 
him your drawings, and he was so delighted 
with them. 

ELLA RICHEY 

{confusedly). Yes,—no, no,— {In utter 
confusion.) Oh, papa,— 

Enter MAGGIE through the door to the 
right. 

MAGGIE. 

Mr. Meacham. 

ELLA RICHEY 

{coaxingly). You’ve had enough busi¬ 
ness worry to-day, papa. Postpone the in¬ 
terview until to-morrow. {Stroking her 
father's hair.) Please, papa. 

RICHEY. 

I must see him, my dear; (With a tender 
look at ELLA RICHEY.) but, to please 


118 






yon, I'll try to get rid of him as soon as pos¬ 
sible. {To MAGGIE.) Tell Mr. Meacham 
to come in. 

Exit MAGGIE through the door to the 
right . 

ELLA RICHEY 

{walking towards the door to the left). 
Don’t let me wait too long for another kiss, 
papa. {Exit.) 

RICHEY. 

What a relief to know that I’ve succeeded 
in paying the way to her happiness, 
( Chuckling) —with Duller. 

Enter MEACHAM. 


MEACHAM. 

Dickson’s suit, contesting Carver’s elec¬ 
tion to the City Council, was not successful. 
The re-count was in Carver’s favor. 

RICHEY 

{angrily). I heard of it before I left the 
office. 


119 



MEACHAM 


(drawing a chair to the desk and sitting 
down). We can't oust him. 

RICHEY. 

He must be ousted; we must continue 
our efforts. 

MEACHAM 

(astonished ). After the re-count has in¬ 
creased Carver's majority from thirty-five 
to fifty votes? (Handing RICHEY a 
paper.) Here are the figures from the dif¬ 
ferent precincts. 


RICHEY 

(throwing the paper on the desk). That 
paltry majority should have been rectified 
when the ballots were counted, on the day 
of the election. We did it with Tipps in the 
Second Ward, why not with Carver? 

MEACHAM. 

The leaders of both parties in his ward 
tried their best, and would have succeeded, 


120 



but for Rector and Carver's other lynx-eyed 
challengers. 


RICHEY. 

That fellow Rector is almost as danger¬ 
ous as Carver himself. 


MEACHAM. 

You’re right, sir, and, you know Rector 
was the leader of the toughs, who tried to 
mob Dickson at one of our meetings in the 
Fourth Ward. 


RICHEY 

{angrily). They should have been club¬ 
bed and tilled with lead. The rabble that 
don’t respect the law must feel the butt end 
of it; that’s the only remedy. 


MEACHAM. 

It’s too bad that we weren’t prepared to 
give the toughs a warmer reception. Rec¬ 
tor, of course, instigated the whole affair. 


121 


RICHEY 


♦ 


{angrily). No man, in the last cam¬ 
paign, has aggravated me more than that 
rascal. 


MEACHAM. 

lie prevented the election of Dickson, 
and his articles in “The Daily Record” 
helped to defeat some of our other Indians. 

RICHEY 

( excitedly ). Only eleven Indians in the 
Council, nine less than we calculated on. 
(More calmly.) I’m glad though that the 
silk-stocking President of the City Council 
reappointed most of the old members of the 
Lighting Committee, and made Tipps Chair¬ 
man again. 


MEACHAM. 

The President did it, because I promised 
him the future support of our eleven In¬ 
dians. 

122 




RICHEY. 


And what is the outlook for bringing 
some of the other silk-stockings in the City 

O t/ 

Council over to our side? 

MEACHAM. 

Notwithstanding Carver’s objection, six 
of them voted for Wiley’s street-car fran¬ 
chise. 

RICHEY. 

Try to get those six under obligation to 
yon. I will place some of my unimproved 
property on Weston Street at your disposal 
for that purpose. 

MEACHAM. 

Have the title transferred to somebody 
else so that your name don’t appear in the 
deed. 

RICHEY. 

That can be easily done. 


MEACHAM. 

How many lots shall I offer them apiece? 


123 


RICHEY. 


Two twenty-five foot lots, at a nominal 
price,—practically for nothing. The real 
value is about five hundred dollars per lot. 


MEACHAM 
(rising). All right, sir. 


RICHEY. 

You better see Carver also. Offer him 
four lots. He probably lias as much horse- 
sense as the rest of them, (With a grim 
smile.) Only harder to reach. 

MEACHAM 

{departing ). I'll try my best. {Exit 
i/irough, the door to the right.) 

RICHEY 

{looking over the paper, which 
M E AC HAM handed to him). Exasperat¬ 
ing! 

Eater MAGGIE through the door to the 
left. 


124 



MAGGIE. 

Mrs. Jones, our washer-woman would 
like to see vou. 

t/ 


RICHEY 

(gruffly). I have no time. 

Enter MRS. JONES through the door to 
the left. 

MRS. JONES. 

Oli, Mr. Richey, my poor boy. He’s sales¬ 
man for a grocery firm, and was anxious to 
get customers; and he let liis expenses run 
up too high. They say there’s a shortage of 
forty dollars. (Crying). If it ain’t settled 
by to-morrow, he’ll be arrested. 

RICHEY. 

If he stole, let him suffer the conse¬ 
quences. 

MRS. JONES. 

lie’s innocent. 


125 


RICHEY. 


That’s what they all claim to be. 


MRS. JONES. 

Oh, sir, I beg you— 

RICHEY. 

No,—it’s against my principles to help a 
thief. 

MRS. JONES 

(staggering towards the door to the left, 
MAGGIE following her). Oh, my poor 
boy! 


Exeun t MRS. 


JONES and MAGGIE. 


RICHEY 

(looking down reflectively). If it came 
out that I helped one thief, a whole army of 
reprobates would apply for assistance. 
{Continuing to look at the paper.) Pshaw! 
{Looking a]).) Her only child,—a terrible 
blow,—maybe I was too hasty. (He rings 
the bell.) 


126 




Enter MAGGIE through the door to the 
left. 


IvICHEY. 


Call Mrs. Jones back. 


MAGGIE. 

She fell in a faint and then I called the 
ladies. As soon as she comes to, they’ll take 
her home in the carriage. 

RICHEY 

(gruffly). Tell the woman to quit mak¬ 
ing a scene,—she can have the money. 

MAGGIE. 

INI iss Ella has already gone upstairs to 
get it. She\s so awful good, and so kind to 
everybody. 

RICHEY 

(sternly). You may go. 

Exit MAGGIE through the door to the 
left. 


127 



RICHEY 


(rising and pacing the floor). Well, 
well,—there’s no telling what woman will 
do. Ella lias always been liberal with her 
pin-money, but now she begins to throw it 
away. Getting queerer and queerer,—head 
over heels in love (Chuckling) —with Bul- 
ler. How confused she got a moment ago, 
when I took her unawares, and she con¬ 
fessed her love for him. It would be wrong 
to keep her little heart in suspense, and as 
soon as Buller comes, I’ll give him a hint 
(Chuckling) to pop the question. (Rub¬ 
bing his hands.) Everything is going my 
way, and Buller and I,—what a magnificent 
team. We’ll make business hum. It’ll be 
glorious. 

Enter MAGGIE through the door to the 
right. Ehe presents a card. 

RICHEY 

(reading the card until astonishment). 
“Alfred Rector, Attorney at Law.”—What 
the devil can he want here? Tell him to 
come in. 


128 








Exit MAGGIE through the door to the 
right. 

RICHEY. 

Unmitigated nerve. ( Throwing the card 
on his desk.) Damned impudence! 

Enter RECTOR. 

RICHEY 

(looking at RECTOR expectantly). 
Well, sir? 

RECTOR. 

My lucky star— 


RICHEY. 

What have I got to do with your lucky 
star, sir? 

RECTOR. 

I—I love your daughter. 


RICHEY 

(falling hack in his chair, and gasping 
for breath). What? 


129 






RECTOR. 


Will vou consent—? 

RICHEY 

(rising). No! No! A thousand times 
no. Away, you beggar. 

RECTOR looks anxiously towards the 
door to the left. 

RICHEY. 

She’s engaged to Mr. Buller. (As REC¬ 
TOR again looks towards the door to the 
left.) Are you deaf, sir? She’s engaged to 
Mr. Buller—Buller of Chicago. Now go. 
(.Pointing to the door towards the right , as 
RECTOR takes a step towards the door to 
the left.) That way. (As RECTOR ap¬ 
proaches the door to the right.) Go! (As 
RECTOR remains standing on the thresh¬ 
old looking at the door to the left.) What 
the devil are you looking at? (Taking a 
few steps towards RECTOR and stamping 
on the floor.) Go, I say. 

Exit RECTOR, 


130 




RICHEY 


(pacing the floor excitedly). Incredible! 
Preposterous! {He rings the bell.) 


Enter MAGGIE through the door to the 
left. 


RICHEY. 


Have the ladies returned? 


MAGGIE. 

Yes, sir. 

RICHEY. 

Tell my daughter I wish to see her in¬ 
stantly. 


Exit MAGGIE through the door to the 
left. 


RICHEY 


{pacing the floor). How did the beggar 
ever come to know Ella? I didn't know that 
he was even acquainted with her. 

Enter ELLA RICHEY; she remains 
standing at the door. 


131 


RICHEY 


(in suppressed excitement). Come in, 
my child. (Drawing his daughter to the 
sofa and sitting beside her.) I wish to 
speak to you. 


ELLA RICHEY 

(clasping her father’s hand with both 
hands). I know you didn’t mean what you 
said to Mrs. Jones. 


RICHEY. 

Never mind, my dear, I want to speak to 
you about something else. (Sternly) Do 
you know a man by the name of Rector? 


ELLA RICHEY 

(anxiously). Alfred? (With suppressed 
excitement). Was Mr. Rector here? Has 
he spoken to you? 

RICHEY 

(pushing his daughter away and rising). 
You vixen. (Pacing the floor excitedly.) 
You vixen. (Threateningly) Never dare to 


132 


speak that name in my presence again; the 
beggar, the rascal,— 


ELLA RICHEY 

(in an emphatic voice as she vises and 
faces her father). Oh, no, papa, no, no; 
lie’s a gentleman, a true gentleman. 


RICHEY 

(still in a passion). Hold your tongue. 
(In a calmer tone as he again leads his 
daughter to the sofa and sit, s' beside her.) 
Ella! (Clasping his daughter s hand , ten¬ 
derly.) My own dear Ella. (She makes 
no reply, but looks up at him with tearful 
eyes.) You know that Buller, one of the 
richest men in Chicago, passionately adores 

YOU. 

ELLA RICHEY 
(imploringly). Papa! 

RICHEY. 

Your kind treatment of Buller has given 
him the assurance that his affection for you 

c 

is reciprocated. 


133 






ELLA RICHEY. 


He’s mistaken, papa; I only treated liim 
with the courtesy due to a friend of yours. 

RICHEY. 

I talked it over with Buller, and he'll 
shortly come and claim your hand. 

ELLA RICHEY 

{emphatically ). I will never be his wife. 

RICHEY. 

You cannot be in earnest. 

Enter MARY RICHEY. 


ELLA RICHEY 

(rising). All the millions in the world 
could not repay me for the man I love. 

RICHEY 

(rising). You vixen— 


134 


MARY RICHEY. 


Brother! 

RICHEY 

(to ELLA RICHEY). Intriguing be¬ 
hind your father’s back! 


ELLA RICHEY 

(proudly). I should not be worthy of 
the love of Alfred Rector if I did. 

RICHEY 

(in a passion y approaching liis daughter 
threateningly). Didn't I tell you not to 
pronounce that name? 

MARY RICHEY 

(stepping in front of RICHEY). Take 
care, brother, lest you do something you 
may be sorry for. 

ELLA RICHEY 

(in a jubilant voice). I loye Alfred, and 
I shall always love him,— (Weeping con¬ 
vulsively and falling into the arms of her 
a un t.) a 1 wavs,—always. 

/ 1/ 7 «/ 




135 




RICHEY 

(in a towering passion). Out of my 
sight! 

MARY RICHEY 

(to ELLA RICHEY). Come, my child. 


RICHEY 

(to ELLA RICHEY, as his sister leads 
her towards the door to the right). Under 
no circumstances leave the house, not even 
your room, without my permission. 

Exeunt ELLA and MARY RICHEY 
through the door to the right. 

RICHEY 

(pacing the floor). Ella will thank me 
yet for protecting her from the conse¬ 
quences of her infatuation. (He sits down 
at the desk and rings the hell.) 

Enter MAGGIE through the door to the 
left . 

136 


* 




RICHEY. 


That last man, who called on me,—was he 
ever here before? 


MAGGIE 

(hesitatingly). I don’t know, sir. 


RICHEY. 

The deuce you don't. Was he here often? 


MAGGIE 

(hesitatingly). Oh, I don’t know how 
often. 


RICHEY 

(as MAGGIE retreats to the door to the 
left) . Hold on ! Give me the key to the mail 
box; I’ll take out the mail myself after this. 


MAGGIE 

(handing RICHEY a hey). Here, sir. 
(Exit.) 


137 


RICHEY 


(putting the hey into his pocket). No 

underhand correspondence shall go on. 

% 

Enter MARY RICHEY. 


MARY RICHEY. 

Poor Ella is so excited; I'm afraid she’ll 
be ill. 

RICHEY. 

Why did you allow that rascal Rector to 
enter this house? 


MARY RICHEY. 

You could never get a better son-in-law. 


RICHEY 

( angrily ). Silence! 

MARY RICHEY 

(placing her arms akimbo). I will speak. 
When I came to vour house fourteen years 
ago, a year after the death of your wife, I 

O / e/ «/ / 


138 


found your—, I mean Ella, motherless and 
fatherless. 


RICHEY. 

Fatherless? 

MARY RICHEY. 

Yes, fatherless too, for you were so em 
grossed with business that you seemed to be 
oblivious to the fact that you had a daugh¬ 
ter. I found her surrounded by luxury and 
comfort, but in the hands of strangers. 
They told me she was ill, and, indeed, she 
was ill, yearning for love, her little heart 
almost broken for want of affection. 
(RICHEY falls bach- in his chair in amaze¬ 
ment.) Taking her in my arms, I kissed 
her thin lips, and vowed that I would be a 
mother to her ever afterwards. It was 
through me, that her cheeks filled out, and 
her dim eyes became radiant again. Under 
my guidance she has grown up, and for her 
sake I have endured your whims and 
humors; but if you go too far, if you at¬ 
tempt to treat Ella like your stocks and 
bonds, I will not have it, for she is my child, 


139 


mine, mine more than yours, and you shall 
not sell her like a chattel—for money. 
(Going to the door to the right and stand¬ 
ing on the threshold.) You shall not debase 
her exalted instincts of womanhood, and— 
you cannot. 

(The curtain drops.) 


ECENE II—Meach am’s law-office. There 
is a window to the left , and a door to the 
right leading to an ante-room. A desk 
stands in the center of the stage towards the 
front. A number of chairs are placed about 
the room. 

TIME—About a week later, at the begin¬ 
ning of June. 

ME AC HAM is seated at the desk. 

Enter RICHEY and WILEY. 

MEACHAM 

(rising). Come in, gentlemen. (He 
draws tiro chairs to the desk.) 

140 




WILEY 


(handing MEACHAM a package). 
Here’s fifty-five hundred dollars, the fran¬ 
chise money for the Indians. 

MEACHAM 

(laying the package on the desk). Al¬ 
right, sir, I'll attend to its distribution. 

RICHEY 

(as they all sit down, to MEACHAM). 
Did you see Carver? 

MEACHAM 

(to RICHEY). Not yet, Mr. Richey, 

but I spoke to the six silk-stockings, who 

voted for Mr. Wiley’s street-car franchise 

«/ 

bill. Every single one of them took the tivo 
lots, which you told me to offer them, and 
they didn't pay for them either, and they’re 
all willing to take more. 


RICHEY. 
That’s good news. 

o 


141 


MEACHAM. 

I heard that RECTOR left the city 


RICHEY 


The beggar wanted to marry my daugli- 

«/ cd 

ter. 

MEACHAM. 

Is it possible? 


RICHEY. 

The rascal has l)een pestering her, and 
rough treatment was necessary. 

o t/ 


MEACHAM. 

Good! 

RICHEY. 

After realizing what a fool he had made 
of himself, he probably concluded it was 
best to get away from here. 


MEACHAM 

(to RICHEY). There is a rumor that 
Mr. Buller of Chicago is to be your son-in- 

O t/ 

law. 


142 



RICHEY 


(to MEACHAM). Yes, yes,—my daugh¬ 
ter is engaged to him,—but the engagement 
won't be announced for awhile; so please 
don't say anything about it. 


MEACHAM 

(to RICHEY). Why no, Mr. Richey, 
of course not. 

WILEY 

(laughing). It’s a good thing that we 
are rid of Rector. 


MEACHAM. 

Yes, it will be easier to handle Carver. 


WILEY 

(to RICHEY). If Carver comes to 
terms, what will be the next step? 

RICHEY 

(to WILEY). To have the City Coun¬ 
cil immediately adjourn over summer; but, 


143 



if Carver is successful in opposing an ad¬ 
journment, lie may also be able to force 
through the Council, resolutions ignoring 
the Lighting Committee and calling for bids 
early enough to bring in outside competi¬ 
tion, and outside competition we can’t tol¬ 
erate. 

Enter CLERK. 


CLERK. 

Mr. Dickson. 


MEACHAM. 

Tell him to come in. 

Exit CLERK. 

WILEY. 

No, we can’t allow outside competition. 
It must be kept out at all hazards. 

Enter DICKSON. 

MEACHAM 

(to DICKSON). Anything new? 


144 


DICKSON 


(to MEACHAM). Yes, sir. Carver is 
preparing plans for a municipal gas-plant 
with the assistance of Evans, the City En¬ 
gineer. 

RICHEY 

(rising). It heats the devil. 


MEACHAM 

(as he and WILEY rise, to DICKSON). 
Is your information authentic? 

t/ 

DICKSON 

(to MEACHAM). 1 have it from Evans’ 
clerk, and he also said that Carver will try 
to have the Council issue a call for lighting 
bids as early as possible. 

RICHEY 

(to DICKSON). So he intends to sub¬ 
mit his plans after the call has been issued? 

DICKSON 

(to RICHEY). Yes, sir, if the bids, sub¬ 
mitted in response to the call, are too high. 


145 


RICHEY and WILEY pace the floor, 
talking to each other in a subdued tone, and 
ges ticu l a tin g excitedly. 


MEACHAM 

(to DICKSON). Anything else, Dick¬ 
son? 

DICKSON 


(■ whispering, to MEACHAM). Yes, sir. 
(With a side-look at RICHEY and 
WILEY.) I’ll tell you later. 


MEACHAM 

(with a significant motion towards the 
door, to DICKSON). All right, sir. 

Exit DICKSON. 

RICHEY 

(to MEACHAM). You must see Car¬ 
ver immediately. Otter him eight lots. If 
that ain’t enough,—Damnation! tell him 
to make his own price. 

146 




MEACHAM 


(to RICHEY). Very well, Mr. Richey, 
I’ll do so. (Accompanying RICHEY and 
WILEY to the door.) And if “The Daily 
Record” continues its attacks on us and our 
friends in the City Council, it may be ad- 
visable after all for me to see Smith, the 
editor and proprietor. 

RICHEY 

(to MEACHAM). I leave the matter 
entirely in your hands; do as you think 
best. 

Exeunt RICHEY and WILEY. 


MEACHAM 

(standing in the door). Come in, Dick¬ 
son. 

Enter DICKSON. 

DICKSON. 

Plowman has come back—dead broke. 


147 



ME AC HAM. 


W hat do I care? 


DICKSON. 

He saw my rent-sign on the vacant tene- 

i/ o 

ment-house, where he formerly lived, and 
came to my office to inquire after his fam¬ 
ily. He was drunk. 

c/ 


MEACHAM. 

That don't concern me. 

DICKSON. 

The thought struck me that he was just 
the man,—that he might,—that we could 
use him,—if Carver gets too troublesome. 


MEACHAM. 
What do you mean? 

t/ 


DICKSON. 


I told Plowman that his wife and daugli- 

o 

ter were dead; then I took him to an out- 


148 



of-the-way boarding house, and paid his 
board in advance for a week. Now, if I get 
some of the newspapers containing my 
speeches, and let him read of Carver’s con¬ 
duct toward Mrs. Plowman, it will make his 
hair stand on end. 


M EACH AM icalks towards the tvindow 
to the left. He looks out and mops his fore¬ 
head with his handkerchief. DICKSON 
follows and eyes him intently. 

MEACHAM. 

No, it goes against the grain to resort to 
such hellish tricks, and I'm sure Richey and 
Wiley wouldn’t go to such extremes either. 

DICKSON 

(presentiny a paper to MEACHAM). A 
list of my expenses, including Plowman’s. 

Enter CLERK. 


CLERK. 


Mr. Tipps. 


149 


MEACHAM 

(to CLERK). Tell him to come in. 


Exit CLERK. 


MEACHAM 

(to DICKSON). Come back to-morrow. 
(As DICKSON approaches the door.) Keep 
Plowman on the string, and be mum about 
it. 


DICKSON. 


I will, Mr. Meacham. 


Enter TIPPS. 


DICKSON 

(shaking hands with TIPPS). Hello, 
Tipps, how goes it? 

TIPPS. 

(to DICKSON). First-rate; tip-top. 
Exit DICKSON. 


150 



MEACHAM 


(shaking hands with TIPPS). How is 
the Chairman of the Lighting Committee? 

TIPPS. 

First-rate, tip-top,—and have you written 
that speech for me, that speech I’ve got to 
make in the Council, if Carver again ac¬ 
cuses my committee, that we’re trying to 
delav matters? 

t/ 


MEACHAM 

(taking a paper from the desk and giv¬ 
ing it to TIPPS). Here, Mr. Tipps. 

TIPPS 

(reading). “It is incumbent upon the 
Committee on Lighting to look into the new 
details that are continually coming up and 
require careful scrutiny. The charge of 
procrastation is entirely unwarranted.” 


MEACHAM. 

Procrastination, Mr. Tipps. It means 


151 




TIPPS. 

Procastation, of course. 


MBACHAM. 

Procrastination, Mr. Tipps; it means de¬ 
lay. 

TIPPS. 


Of course, it does. (.Looking at the pa¬ 
per.) And it’s a mighty hard job to make 
heads and tails out of your writing. 


MEACHAM. 

I'll have it type-written, Mr. Tipps. 


TIPPS 

(handing MEACHAM the paper). Yes, 
sir; yes, sir, and just weed out those high¬ 
falutin’ words; nobody understands them 
anyway. 

MEACHAM 

(going towards the door). Certainly, 
Mr. Tipps, if you prefer it that way. 


152 


TIPPS. 

Yes, sir; ves, sir. 

Exit MEACHAM. 

TIPPS 

(taking up and examining the package, 
which WILEY brought ). Hello! ( Placing 
the package back on the desk.) By golly! 

MEACHAM 

(returning ). Take a chair, Mr. Tipps. 
(As both seat themselves, TIPPS occasion¬ 
ally easting a longing glance at the pack¬ 
age.) A type-written copy of your speech 
will he finished in a feAV minutes. 


TIPPS. 

Yes, sir; yes, sir. ((/lancing at the pack¬ 
age.) And can't you give me my five hun¬ 
dred dollars for voting for Wiley’s street- 
car franchise? . 

MEACHAM. 

Give it to you? You ought to know bet- 

ter bv this time. 

»,■ 


153 


TIPPS 


(laughing). Yes, sir; yes, sir. 


MEACHAM 

(taking a pack of cards from the drawer 
and handing them to TIPPS). Have a 
game, Mr. Tipps? 

TIPPS. 

Yes, sir; yes, sir. Sure. 

MEACHAM 

(turning away). Shuffle, Mr. Tipps. 

TIPPS shuffles the cards, places them on 
the table, and looks at the upper card. 

TIPPS. 

I’ve done shuffled the cards. 


MEACHAM. 
What’s the bet? 


154 


T1PPS. 

Five hundred dollars that the upper card 
is jack of spades. 

MEACHAM. 

I bet five hundred dollars that it’s not: 
(Looking at the upper card.) Jerusalem! 
you won. (Taking a roll of hills from the 
package on the table, and giving it to 
TIPPS.) Take your money. 

TIPPS 

(taking the money and putting it in his 
pocket). Yes, sir; yes, sir. 

Enter CLERK, handing MEACHAM a 
paper and then departing. 

MEACHAM 

(giving TIPPS the paper). A type-writ¬ 
ten copy of your speech. 

TIPPS 

(accepting the paper). Yes, sir; yes, sir. 
(Putting the paper in his pocket, and look- 


155 


ing at the package on the table.) Say, Mr. 
Meacham. 

MEACHAM. 

Well? 

TIPPS. 

You know Pm chairman of the Lighting 
Committee, and worked like a beaver that 
nothing was done. 


MEACHAM. 

Weren't you lucky enough to win a thou- 
sand dollars on that account? 


TIPPS. 

Let me win another thousand dollars. 
(Looking at the package.) I know you 
could if you liked, and I deserve the money. 
Remember the abuse I have to stand. 

Enter CLERK. 


CLERK. 

Mr. Carver. 


156 


MEACHAM 


(rising to CLERK). Tell him to step in. 
(To TIPPS.) I have no time now, Mr. 
Ti pps. 

TIPPS 

(rising and departing with the CLERK). 
Yes, sir; yes, sir; we can talk about it later. 
(Speaking in the adjoining room.) Hello, 
Carver! (Laughing.) The goose hangs high. 

Enter CARVER. 

/ 

MEACHAM 

(meeting CARVER half way, and shak¬ 
ing hands with him). I can hardly tell you, 
my dear sir, how highly I appreciate the 
honor of your visit. 

CARVER. 

You wrote that you wished to see me on 

t/ 

important business. What is it? 

MEACHAM. 

I can procure offices for a number of your 
friends. 


157 


CARVER. 
On what condition? 


V EACH AM. 


That you treat the members of the Light¬ 
ing Committee with a little more considera¬ 
tion. 

CARVER. 

Acceptance of a bribe in this form would 
be as wrong as the acceptance of any other 
bribe. 

MEACHAM 

(as CARVER turns to go away). I 
didn’t mean it that way, Mr. Carver; but, 
unless you throw some of your idealistic 
views overboard, you won't accomplish any¬ 
thing. 

CARVER 

(again turning to go away), (food-day, 
sir. 

MEACHAM 

(touching CARVER'S arm). You musn’t 
take it that way, Mr. Carver. On the con- 


158 


trary, I recognize your signal ability, and 
look upon you as a natural born leader. 
Exert your talents in the right direction 
and your political career will be a grand 
success. 

CARVER. 

My main ambition is to do my duty. 

«/ t/ 


MEACHAM. 

Should it not be possible to harmonize 
duty and self-interest? (Pointing to a chair 
near the desk.) Sit down for a few min¬ 
utes, and let me give you an illustration. 
(After they have both seated themselves.) 
An acquaintance of mine has authorized me 
to sell eight t wen tv-five foot lots on Weston 
street, near Wiley’s proposed street car line, 
—the line which you opposed. 

CARVER. 

Because the ordinance granting the fran¬ 
chise, expressly authorizes consolidation, 
and contains no provision for arbitration of 
labor controversies, or for compensation to 


159 




the city for the valuable privileges granted. 
It lacks, in fact, every essential safe-guard 
for the public interest. 


MEACHAM 

(lauffhinfj). Is that all, or can it be that 

you had any further objections? 

«/ €/ 


CARVER. 

Yes, sir; I also had good reasons for be¬ 
lieving that money was used. 


MEACHAM. 

Where’s the harm, so long as the ordi¬ 
nance provides the community with a 
needed commodity? 

t/ 

CARVER. 

The evil influence of corruption outweighs 
its benefits in every instance. Sooner or 
later it will come out, and undermine public 
morality to the same extent that the law is 
impotent to deal with it. 


160 


M EACH AM. 


I esteem you too highly to take you for 
oue of those cranks opposed to corporations. 

CARVER. 

I have nothing against corporations that 
transact their business in a lawful way, but 
everything against those whose main stock 
in trade is bribery and corruption. They 
are a dire menace to public safety. 


MEACHAM. 

It's bad enough when professional agita¬ 
tors talk that way; men of intelligence 
should exert themselves to prevent the 
spread of such ideas, especially among the 
common people. 


CARVER. 

There are no common people in this coun¬ 
try, and it may be brought home to certain 
men sooner than they think that they com- 
prise no privileged class, and cannot trans¬ 
gress the law, or disregard the sanctity of 
an oath with impunity. 


161 


MEACHAM. 


You seem to be looking for a revolution. 

CARVER. 

Only through the ballot-box, and through 
the same enforcement of law and order 
among the rich as among the poor; through 
the spread of the conviction, that both the 
bribe-giver and the bribe-taker are con¬ 
temptible and dangerous criminals; through 
the education of public opinion to the recog¬ 
nition of the fact that attorneys and other 
representatives of notorious corporations 
should be excluded from active participa¬ 
tion in legislative bodies and conventions, 
and all other political gatherings. 


MEACHAM. 

But our industrial development has 
brought on new conditions, and everybody 
who wants to keep up with the procession, 
must conform to them, and throw over¬ 
board old fogy ideas and prejudices. 


CARVER. 

Honesty will always remain the only true 
policy. 

ME AC HAM. 

A more practical one is to make hay while 
the sun shines, and feather your nest when 
you have a chance. The more these precepts 
are followed, the better will business be. 

CARVER. 

I take as much pride as anybody in the 
material growth of our country, and I am 
neither antagonistic to legitimate business, 
nor to legitimate combinations of capital or 
of organized labor, for such combinations 
may be necessary and lead to the harmoni- 
ous settlement of differences between cap¬ 
ital and labor. 1 am in favor of everything 
that can be rightfully done to develop our 
industrial power; and, in removing the trust 
evils that confront us, nothing should be at¬ 
tempted that emanates from hatred or envy, 
ignorance or fear, and in my humble opin¬ 
ion there is no better remedy than publicity 


163 


obtained through strict federal supervision 
and control. 


MEACHAM. 

It’s amusing to listen to you, my dear 
Mr. Carver, but, turning to something else, 
don’t you concede that everybody, who has 
a chance, should endeavor to share in the 
present prosperity ? 


CARVER. 

Certainly. 

MEACHAM. 

Very well, then, my dear Mr. Carver, you 
shall have a chance also, namely, in that 
real estate deal. I'll sell you the eight lots 

1/ o 

very cheap. 

CARVER. 

* 

What’s the price? 

MEACHAM. 

Only ten dollars per foot, but in the deed 
we can make it twenty dollars. 

t/ 


164 



CARVER. 

The land is worth fully twenty dollars 
per foot. 

MEACHAM. 

I will advance the money, and you can re- 
pay me at your pleasure. 

CARVER. 

Apparently your offer has fascinating 
features. 

MEACHAM 

(joyfully). Hasn’t it? 

CARVER. 

Rut only on the surface. (Rising) No, I 
decline to be placed under obligation to you, 
and reject the bribe for some future service, 
which you evidently want me to perform. 


MEACHAM 

(rising). You’re mistaken, my dear Mr. 
Carver, you misunderstand me. If you don't 
want to go into the deal, just say so, and 


165 


we’ll drop it. Nevertheless, I’m a good 
friend of yours, a damn good friend, and I'll 
prove it by making you another proposition, 
that will surpass anything you ever heard 
of. 

CARVER. 

I don't care to hear it, 

ME AC HAM. 

It's honorable and above board, and the 
Standard Gas Light Company has nothing 
to do with it. You shall retain perfect free¬ 
dom to vote just as you please on any ques¬ 
tion that may come up in the City Council. 
A11 1 expect is for you to say nothing 
against the ratification of a certain contract 
that will be recommended by the Lighting 
Committee, of which, you know, Mr. Tipps 
is the chairman, and, (in a tone of extreme 
friendliness) my dear Mr. Carver, you may 
name your own price. 


CARVER. 

No! I'll do my duty, and stand bv the 
people, who elected me. 


166 






MEACHAM. 


Bosh, that’s campaign talk. 

CARVER. 

It should be the talk of every honest mem- 
her of the City Council. (Exit.) 


MEACHAM. 

A strange man, (Shaking Iris fist in the 
direction of the door.) a conundrum that 
has to be solved or busted. 

(The curtain drops.) 


167 


ACT IV. 


SCENE I—The office of SMITH, the 
Editor of “The Daily Record” There is a 
door to the right, opening into a hall-way, a 
door to the left, opening into SMITH'S pri¬ 
vate office, and two windows at the hack 
facing the street. A desk stands at the 
front of the stage to the right, and several 
chairs and tables, some of them covered 
with news papers, stand in different parts 
of the room. 

TIME— Two months later, the beginning 
of August. 

SMITH is seated at the desk. 

Enter FERRY, MEYER and BURKE 
through the door to the right. 


SMITH 

{rising). How do you do, gentlemen? 


168 


FERRY 


(shaking hands with SMITH). My name 
is Ferry. (Pointing to MEYER.) Mr. 
Meyer. 

a/ 

SMITH 

(shaking hands with MEYER). Mr. 


FERRY 

i 

(pointing to BURKE). Mr. Burke. 


SMITH 

(shaking hands with BURKE). Mr. 
Burke. 

FERRY. 

We come to thank you for supporting 
Carver in his fight for cheaper lighting. 


BURKE. 

Begorrah ! lie’s on top of the heap for sure. 

SMITH. 

Mr. Carver certainly won a signal victory 

t/ O t/ 

in getting the Council to make a call for 
lighting bids. 


169 


BURKE. 


Sure, a big victory it was, notwithstand¬ 
ing and in spoite of the fact that his resolu¬ 
tion carried but a single majority. 

MEYER 

(to SMITH). A whole compoodle of us, 
it vas in Schenk’s Saloon dis afternoon, talk¬ 
ing about de lightning bits, vicli have come 
in on account of Carver’s resolution. Shoo 
know de bit from de Standard (fas Light 
Company vas de highest; den dare vas 
anotter bit, vicli vas much lower, and anot- 
ter von lower shtill, and den dare vas even 
anotter von yet, shoost half so much, and 
dis last bit, it vas, as shoo know, de von 
vicli was acceptated, because it vas de low¬ 
est von. 

SMITH 

(to 31 EVER). You refer to the bid of 
Foley. 

MEYER 

(to SMITH). Sliess, Mr. Schmidt, and 
don’t shoo tink dare vas someting loose mit 
dat feller? Who is dat Foley any how? 

t/ 


170 


SMITH 


(to MEYER). All I know about him is 
that lie lives at Farmington, a small country 

ZD 7 v 

town. 

BURKE. 

And then somebody came in with a copy 
of “The Daily Record,” and told Ferry to 
read what it said about Dickson and Tipps. 

SMITH 

(taking a paper from the desk and point¬ 
ing to an article). Dickson alias Devlin, 
the ex-convict, and (Pointing to another ar¬ 
ticle.) Tipps, the self-confessed boodler. 

BURKE. 

It was enough to make a feller feel the 
shivers creep up his back, and, bejabers, how 
did Tipps come to give himself away? 


SMITH 

(to BURKE). I ascertained that he 
openly boasted of his boodling. 


171 


BURKE 

(to SMITH). Made no bones about it? 

SMITH. 

None whatever. So I delegated a repor¬ 
ter to get on friendly terms with Tipps, and 
then to interview him. 

MEYER 

(to SMITH). Dese shlick fellers don't 
tink on it dat dare vas slitill shlieker fellers 
vet. 

FERRY. 

Tlie discussion, which followed, became 
so noisy that it attracted attention outside, 
causing more people to come in. 

MEYER 

(to SMITH). And den me and Ferry, 
and even Boorke, had to make a speech. 

BURKE 

(to SMITH). Yis, Mr. Smith, even 
Dutcliy had to make a spaclie. Iverv toime 


172 



Carver’s name was mintoined, tlie crowd 
cheered. 


FERRY 


(to SMITH), 
cheered also. 


Mrs. Burke's name was 


BURKE 


(to SMITH). Lit me till you in what 
conniction. It was this way, whin Oi was 
tillin' the crowd what Oi’m tillin' you now, 
which is that a few noights ago Oi was 
drainin’ of that there meetin’ where Dick¬ 
son blaggarded Carver so, and Oi dreamt 
that Oi was loocky enough for once to git 
Dickson under mi thumb. Before Oi got 
through with him, Mary Ann gave me a 
poke in the ribs, and wanted to know why 
Oi was after yellin’ loike a Comanche In¬ 
dian, and whin Oi told her, says she—“It’s 
Christian work to give a feller what belongs 
to him; and, after awhoile, whin Oi thought 
her asleep agin, she called out—“Patsy!” 
“What is it, Mary Ann?” says Oi. “Patsy,” 
says she, “if you drame of that Dickson 
agin, jist lay on an extra lick for me too 




173 




( Proudly) Ain’t that a foine way for a 
woman to talk? 

SMITH 

(laughing, to BURKE). Yes, indeed, Mr. 
Bnrke. 

FERRY 

(to SMITH). The crowd thought so, 
too, and when three cheers were proposed 
for Mrs. Burke, they were responded to with 
a whoop that made the welkin ring. 

BURKE 

(to SMITH). Sure it did me good to hear 
it. 


SMITH 

(to BURKE). No wonder. 

MEYER 

(to SMITH). And I sait “De Daily 
Record,” it vas a bully paper, and everybody 
ought to take it. 

o 


174 


FERRY 


(to SMITH). Immediately a number of 
persons stepped forward and subscribed 
their names. ( Handing SMITH a sheet of 
paper.) This is the list. 

SMITH 

(accepting the list and laying it on the 
desk : to FERRY). Thank you. thank you, 

* / / t/ 


FERRY. 

Then Meyer, Burke and myself were ap¬ 
pointed a committee to come here and ten¬ 
der you the compliments of all who were 
present, and, (Shaking hands with SMITH) 
in leaving, we express the hope that you will 
stand by Carver in the future as you have 
done in the past. Good day, Mr. Smith. 

SMITH 

(shaking hands with FERRY). Good 
day, Mr. Ferry. (Shaking hands with 
BURKE.) Good day, Mr. Burke. Give my 
regards to 31 rs. Burke. 


175 


BURKE. 

Sure, Mr. Smith, Oi will. 

SMITH 

(taking hold of MEYER’S hand and 
shaking it with both hands). Good day, 
Mr. Meyer; it was very kind of you to put 
in a good word for our paper. 


MEYER. 
It vas a pleasure. 


SMITH 

(accompanying FERRY, BURKE and 
MEYER to the door to the right). I shall 
always be glad to see you, gentlemen; call 
again. 

MEYER 

(as he, FERRY and BURKE depart). 
Yee vill, Mr. Schmidt. 

Exeunt FERRY, MEYER and BURKE. 



176 


SMITH 


(after returning to the desk, and taking 
up the list, which FERRY gave him). 
Forty-eight new subscribers! I hope the ar¬ 
ticle will be equally effective in certain 
other quarters. 

DICKSON 

(outside of the door to the right). 
Where’s the editor? 

Enter TOMMY, with a scared face, 
through the door to the right. 

TOMMY. 

Somebody wants to see you, sir. He’s 

e- e/ / 

mad, and lie’s got a club. 

Enter DICKSON, swinging a club. 

TOMMY 

(as DICKSON enters, to SMITH). 
There he is. 

DICKSON 


(to SMITH). Where’s the editor? 


177 


SMITH 

(to DICKSON). What do you wish to 
see him about? 

DICKSON 

(taking a newspaper from his pocket and 
pointing to an article). Who wrote that? 
(Striking the desk with his club.) Who 
wrote that? 

SMITH. 

The editor, sir. 

DICKSON. 

Where is he? 

SMITH 

(rising). I’ll call him, sir; but excuse 
me, is your business private? 

DICKSON 

(stamping on the floor). Damn private. 

SMITH 

(going to the door to the left and opening 
it). Be kind enough then to step into the 


178 


private office. (As DICKSON walks to¬ 
wards the door to the left.) The editor will 
be here in a few moments. 


DICKSON. 

(entering the ad joining room). I want 
to see him bad. 

SMITH 

(after closing the door). Hurry up, 
Tommy, and get a policeman, two if you can. 

Exit TOMMY through the door to the 
right. 

SMITH 

(pacing the floor). Rather uncomfortable. 
(Looking out of the window to the right.) 
(treat Heavens, there’s another suspicious 
character coming up the street—lie's enter¬ 
ing the house,—I wonder whether he wants 
to see the editor too? 


()'FINNIC AN 

(outside of the door to the right), (fee- 
criminy! I'll fix him. 


179 




SMITH 

(looking towards the door to the right). 
Here lie comes. 

Enter O’FINNIGAN, somewhat under 
the influence of liquor. 

O’FINNIGAN. 

Where’s the feller that's doin' the writ- 
in'? 

SMITH. 

What writing, sir? 

O’FINNIGAN 

(taking a newspaper from his pocket and 
showing an article to SMITH). This here 
writin’. (Shaking his fist in SMITH’S 
face.) Be yez the feller? 


SMITH. 

The editor wrote that; I'm only his assist¬ 
ant. 


O’FINNIGAN. 
Lucky for you. 


180 


SMITH 


(placing a chair near O’FINNIGAN). 
IT1 call the editor ; please take a chair. 

O’FINNIGAN. 

It would burn under me, if Oi sat down 
before seein’ tlie iditor. Geecriminy! to in- 
suit a man loike Tipps, the man who got me 
a job in the street-department. Who iver 
tackles Tipps —(Beginning to erg.) tackles 
me too. (Taking a chair and striking the 
floor with it.) Watch out! 

SMITH 

(returning to the door to the right). 
Have patience, sir. 

O’FINNIGAN follows SMITH, and 
strikes the floor with the chair , breaking it 
until only one of the chair legs remains in 
his hands. 

O’FINNIGAN. 

Oi want to foind the poipe-sneezin’ vaga¬ 
bond, that Oi kin wallop him (Aiming a 

181 


% 


blow at SMITH, bat striking the door as the 
latter dodges to the left.) loike tliis. 
(Swinging his club.) Where is he? 

SMITH 

(standing against the wall, warding his 
head with hi s left arm, and pointing with 
his right hand to the door to the left). 
There! (As O’FINNIGAN turns around 
looking at the door.) Be careful, lie's in an 
uglv humor and has a club. 

c 1 * 


O’FINNIGAN. 

Oi'll fix him, if he be the divil himsilf. 
(Spitting in his hand.) Geecriminy! 
(Rushing towards the door to the left.) I’ve 
got him ! I've got him ! (After entering the 

adjoining room.) Take that! (Whack.) 


DICKSON 


(in the adjoining room). You son-of-a- 
gun! (Whack.) 


182 


O’FINNIGAN 

{in the adjoining room to the left). You 
skunk. 


SMITH 

(closing the door, mounting a chair, and 
looking through the transom into the ad¬ 
joining room in which angry outcries and re- 
sounding whacks are distinctly heard). 
Great heavens! { Whack.) 


DICKSON 

(in the adjoining room). Ouch! {Whack.) 


O’FINNIGAN 

(in the adjoining room). Damn it! 
( Whack, whack.) 

DICKSON 

(in the adjoining room). You son-of-a 
gun! 

SMITH. 

I wonder Dickson could stand it. 
(Whack) That time O’Finnigan got it 


183 


( Whack) He got another one. But now 
lie grasps the stick with both hands and 
comes down, ( Whack )—for mercy's sake, 
he broke it on Dickson’s head. Dickson 
staggers,—drops liis club,—falls,—gets up 
again; they clinch,—down they go,—roll 
oyer each other. Dickson’s on top, and 
pounds the Irishman. 


DICKSON 

(in the adjoining room). I'll teach you 
not to write about me any more. 


SMITH. 

Hello! O’Finnigan raises himself and 
throws Dickson off;—Dickson tackles him 
again,—they roll oyer,—this time O’Finni- 
gan gets the best of it;—yes, yes, lie’s on top. 

O’FINNIGAN 

(in the adjoining room). Who's doin’ 
the writin’, me or you, you cantankerous 
ould potato-faced badger, you? Geecriminy! 
It’s me who'll tache you, you snakin’ blag- 


184 









gard, you flannel-mouthed bog-trotter, you 
chicken of Beelzebub. 

SMITH. 

His fists come down like sledge-hammers. 
Now he mops the floor with Dickson’s face. 
(Descending from the chair.) I can’t 
stand it any longer. (Opening the door and 
entering the adjoining room.) Hold on, 
hold on. 

Enter TOMMY with two policemen 
through the door to the right. He runs 
with them into the room to the left. 

FIRST POLICEMAN 

(in the adjoining room). Take’em by the 
feet;—now,—altogether,—pull! 

Enter TOMMY and FIRST POLICE¬ 
MAN holding DICKSON’S arms, and 
SMITH and SECOND POLICEMAN hold¬ 
ing O'FINNIGAN’S arms. DICKSON and 
O’FINNIGAN are in tattered apparel and 
are limping; their hair is disheveled, and, 
their faces are covered with bruises, the 


185 




face of the fanner being so black from dust 
that it can hardly be recognized. 

FIRST POLICEMAN 

{to SMITH). Shall we take ’em to the 
cooler ? 

SMITH. 

Not necessary, officers. {To TOMMY.) 
(let two chairs. (TOMMY places two chairs 
a little distance apart at the center of the 
stage to the front.) Now seat them. 

DICKSON 

(as he is assisted to a chair). Oh, my 
foot. 

O’FINNIGAN 

(as he is assisted to a chair). Oi wasn't 
half through with him. 


SMITH 

(after DICKSON and O’FINNIGAN are 
seated, to TOMMY). Get a couple of wet 
towels. 


Exit TOMMY into the room to the left. 


186 


SMITH 


(to FIRST POLICEMAN). The gentle¬ 
men don’t even know each other. 

Enter TOMMY with two towels. 

SMITH 

(taking one of the towels, to TOMMY). 
You attend to Dickson. ( As he and 
TOMMY put the towels on the heads of 
O’FINNIGAN and DICKSON.) So—this 
will reduce the swelling. 

O’FINNIGAN 

(glaring at DICKSON). Oi'm itching 
jist itching— 

FIRST POLICEMAN 

(to O’FINNIGAN). Be quiet! (To 
SMITH.) How did the Turks get to scrap¬ 
ping? 

SMITH 

(to FIRST POLICEMAN). Only a little 
mistake. 


187 




O'FIN NIG AN 


(,glaring at DICKSON). Jist itchin’,- 

FIRST POLICEMAN 

(to OTINNIGAN). Shut up! (To 
SMITH.) A little mistake? 

FIRST and SECOND POLICEMEN, 
SMITH and TOMMY, move away to the 
right , laughing and failing to notice that 
OTINNIGAN shakes his fist at DICKSON. 

SECOND POLICEMAN 

(to SMITH). From the size of the swell¬ 
ings it seems to be a pretty big mistake. 

OTINNIGAN 

(rising and rushing towards DICKSON). 
Jist itchin’,— 


DICKSON. 


Help, help! 


188 



FIRST POLICEMAN 

(as he and SECOND POLICEMAN in¬ 
tercept O’FINNIGAN). At it again, the 
figliting-cocks. 

O’FINNIGAN 

(as he is led hack to the chair). I’ll 
knock the stuffins out of him yit. 


SECOND POLICEMAN 

(to O’FINNIGAN). No more monkey 
business, and don’t you forget it. 

/ t / 1 

Enter MEACHAM from the door to the 
right. 

MEACLIAM. 

What’s the matter? 

SMITH 

(to MEACHAM ). Only a mutual misun¬ 
derstanding, Mr. Meacham. 


MEACHAM 

(recognizing DICKSON). You! 


189 


DICKSON 

(with a faint voice). Mr. Meacliam. 


M EACHAM 

(stepping to O’FINNIGAN and recogniz¬ 
ing him). And that’s O’Finnigan! 


DICKSON 

(in a plaintive voice). O’Finnigan? 


MEACHAM 

(going to DICKSON). Yes, O’Finnigan, 
who hangs around in Tipps’ saloon. 


DICKSON 

(gasping for breath). And not the edi¬ 
tor? 

MEACHAM 

(pointing to SMITH). That’s the edi¬ 
tor. 

DICKSON 

(falling bach in his chair , in a faint 
voice). Carver's at the bottom of this. 


190 


(to DICKSON). No, Mr. Dickson, not 
at all, it's only a case of mistaken identity. 


O'FINN I GAN 

(pointing to DICKSON). And Oi took 
that chump for the iditor. Who's the old 
galoot any how? 


MEACHAM 

(to O'FINNIGAN). Dickson, a friend of 
Tipps ; they were in the council together. 

O'FINNIGAN 

(falling bad: in his chair), Geecriminy! 

SMITH 

(to TOMMY). Get their hats. (To 
O’FINNIGAN, as TOMMY runs into the ad¬ 
joining room to the left). Will you be able 
to get home? 

Re-enter TOMMY with the hats. 


191 


O'FINXIGAN 
(to SMITH). Oi’ll try it. 

FIRST POLICEMAN 

( laughing 9 as TOMMY pats the hats on 
top of the towels on ()’FI NX I G AN'S and 
DICKSON’S heads). They do look funny. 

O'FINN I GAN 

(limping away through the door to the 
right as SECOND POLICEMAN and 
TOMMY join in the laughter). Wliat will 

V - | 

Tipps say? 

MEACHAM 

(to the POLICEMEN). Thanks for your 
services. 

FIRST POLICEMAN 

(to MEACHAM). Don't mention it. (To 
SECOND POLICEMAN.) Come on, pard. 

Exeunt POLICEMEN, shaking with 
laughter , through the door to the right. 

192 




MEACHAM 

(to DICKSON). How is it with you? 


DICKSON 

(endeavoring to rise). Oh, my foot! 


SMITH 

(to ME AC II AM). Shall I send for a car¬ 
riage? 

o 

MEACHAM 


(to SMITH). If you please. 


SMITH 

(to TOMMY). Get a carriage, Tommy. 

Exit TOMMY through the door to the 
right. 

SMITH 

(to DICKSON). Come and lie down on 
the sofa in my private office. 

DICKSON 

(to SMITH). Yes sir, if you please. I 
feel so tired. (As SMITH leads him into 


193 


the adjoining room to the left.) Slow, 
please. Oh, my foot! 


MEACHAM 

(after SMITH and DICKSON have en¬ 
tered the adjoining room). It serves him 
right. His own fault; a bigger fool than I 
thought. 

Re-enter SMITH. 


SMITH 

(pointing to one of the chairs at the cen¬ 
ter of the stage to the front). Be seated. 


MEACHAM 

(as both seat themselves). Permit me, 
first of all, to congratulate you upon the 
marvelous progress of “The Daily Record” 
under vour management. 

v o 

SMITH. 

Thank you, Mr. Meacham, and what can 
I do for you? 


194 


MEACHAM 


1 came to tell you that it will be profitable 
to stop creating prejudice against the Stand¬ 
ard Gas Light Co. 

SMITH 

( laughing ). Have you found out at last 
that small toads have poison also? 


MEACHAM. 

I have always had profound respect for 

vour editorial ability. 

1/ 


SMITH. 

We are not ethereally enough constituted 
to live on wind, and, unless something more 
substantial is offered, we see no reason for 
changing our present policy, (doing to the 
desk and picking up a paper.) It pays. ( Re¬ 
turning with the paper.) Look here. Forty- 
eight new subscribers. Besides, we have 
gathered a lot of valuable material. (doing 
to the desk and flinging the paper on it.) 
Just a minute, (ricking up another paper 


195 




(iiid returning with it to MEACHAM.) 
This is a part of Tipps’ interview, which we 
haven’t used yet. {Resuming his seat and 
reading.) “With a sardonic smile on his 
face, Tipps pointed to the new billiard-hall- 
annex to his saloon, and said: ‘Some of the 
coin for that there outfit came from the elec¬ 
tion boodle I got from Smiley, but most of it 
came from the boodle I got from the other 
high-cockalorum of the gas company.’ ” 


MEACHAM. 

Your reporter lies when he intimates that 
Tipps ever received a bribe from me. 

SMITH. 

Perhaps lie didn’t have you in mind at all. 

MEACHAM 

* {confusedly). No, no, maybe he didn’t; 
of course he didn’t;—of course not. But I 
pledge my word of honor that the books of 
the Standard Gas Light Company fail to re¬ 
veal the expenditure of a single cent for 
wrong purposes. 


196 



SMITH 


(rising). You don’t say so? (Going to 
the desk and returning with another paper.) 
Here’s a stunner. (Resuming his seat.) It 
Avill be in the paper to-morrow. (Reading) 
“That Foley is a dead-beat, is the verdict of 
his townsmen, and the gist of the informa¬ 
tion, which our reporter obtained about him 
in Farmington. His wife runs a millinery 
store. She is a hard-working, thrifty little 
woman, and has to support her lazy hus¬ 
band, who lias not been known to do any 
kind of work for years, except occasionally 
to close the shutters of his wife’s store.” 


MEACHAM 
(angri ly ). Poppy-cock. 


SMITH 

(continuing to read). “And now the same 
dead-beat, the same old shutter-closer, comes 
to this city and makes the lowest bid for the 
lighting contract, depositing twenty-five 
hundred dollars*as security that, within ten 
days of the opening of his bid, he will file a 


197 


bond for two hundred thousand dollars for 
the faithful performance of the work speci¬ 
fied in it. His offer is so low that its bogus 
nature is clearly apparent. The time to fur¬ 
nish a bond will probably be extended by the 
Lighting Committee, but eventually he will 
throw up his contract and forfeit 
his security of twenty-five hundred 

dollars. Months of delay in the let- 

«/ 

ting of the lighting contract may be 
caused by his action. It is generally be- 
lieved that Foley is a hireling of straw of 

e/ CD 

the Standard Gas Light Company to enable 
it to gain time, and thus remove the element 
of competition upon which the city neces¬ 
sarily depends for a legitimately advantage¬ 
ous contract. The result will be that the 
City will be placed in an exceptionally help¬ 
less condition.” 


M EACH AM. 

Bevond endurance! 

SMITH 

(reading). “Shortly before he left Farm¬ 
ington, a gentleman, bearing a striking re- 


198 


semblance to Mr. Meacham, called on Foley 
and had a confab with him in a little room 
back of his wife’s millinery store.” 


MEACHAM 

(rising and slinking icith anger). You 
shall not publish that. 

SMITH 

( rising ). Who will hinder ns ? 


MEACHAM. 

What will you take to stop your opposi¬ 
tion ? 

SMITH. 

What is it worth to you? 

MEACHAM. 


Say two thousand dollars. 


SMITH. 

Only two thousand dollars! No, sir! not 
when you pay four thousand dollars each to 

i/ JL ft/ 


199 


“The Democratic Headlight” and “The 
Morning Republican.” 

MEACHAM. 

Suppose I make it four thousand dollars? 

SMITH. 

That sounds different. 


MEACHAM. 

And from time to time you will insert ar- 
tides from me. 

SMITH. 

No, sir; I will obligate myself to neutral- 
ity, but to nothing beyond that. 


MEACHAM. 
But other editors— 


SMITH 

(interrupting MEACHAM). If they ac¬ 
cept articles, insinuating that Carver was 
bought up by one of the competitors of the 


200 


Standard Gas Light Company, it is no rea¬ 
son that I should lie also. I honor Carver 
too highly. 

MEACHAM. 

Is that your ultimatum? 


SMITH. 

It is, sir. 

MEACHAM. 

Suppose we offer you more? 


SMITH. 

It would have no effect. Strict neutrality, 
sir, nothing else. 

MEACHAM. 

All right, Mr. Smith. I’ll bring the 
money to-morrow. 

Enter TOMMY through the door to the 
right. 

TOMMY 

(to SMITH). The carriage is waiting, 


Exit SMITH into the adjoining room to 
the left. 


SMITH 


(in the adjoining room). 
Dickson. 


DICKSON 


Come on, Mr. 


(in the adjoining room). Oil, my foot! 
Ob! Oh!— 

MEACHAM. 

Pshaw! I wish the old fool would stop 
squealing. 


Re-enter SMITH supporting DICKSON. 


DICKSON. 

Ouch! ouch! Oh, my foot! 

SMITH 

(to MEACHAM). Please help me to get 
Mr. Dickson into the carriage. 

MEACHAM 

(as he approaches SMITH and DICK¬ 
SON, to SMITH). Yes, sir, I will. 


202 


SMITH 


(to DICKSON). Put your arms on our 
shoulders, and lift up your sore foot. ( After 
DICKSON has complied with the request.) 
That’s it. 

SMITH 

(to TOMMY). Open the door Tommy. 

/ 

TOMMY opens the door to the right. 

DICKSON 

(taking a feu: steps towards the door to 
the right with the assistance of SMITH and 
MEACHAM). Ouch! Oh! It’s getting 
worse. 

'MEACHAM 

(to DICKSON). Don’t make such a 
racket. 

DICKSON 

(departing, supported by SMITH and 
MEACHAM, through the door to the right , 
in a hadf-suppressed voice). Ouch! Ouch! 
Oh, oh ! Oh,—my foot! 

(The curtain drops.) 


203 


SCENE II—The street in front of CAR¬ 
VER’S hook-store. In the front of the stage 
to the right an alley runs into the street. 

TIME —About ten o’clock in the evening, 
two weeks later, in the middle of August. 

A. number of chairs stand on the pave¬ 
ment in front of the store, CARVER occu¬ 
pying one of them. LITTLE JOHN CAR¬ 
VER can be seen in the store reading a book. 

Enter FERRY coming up the street from 
the left. 

CARVER. 

Hello, Ferry! 

FERRY 

(sitting down). Say, Carver, I made a 
break to-dav. I was talking to Burke and 
Meyer about the rumpus in the Council last 
night, after you suggested the putting up of 
a municipal gas-plant. I said you had told 
me some time ago that you intended to bring 
in a resolution to that effect. 


204 



CARVER. 


You said nothing out of the way. 

o «/ 


FERRY. 

They didn’t seem to like ,your confiding 
the matter to me without saying anything 
to them. 

CARVER. 

I'm sorry to hear this, and will endeavor 
to straighten matters out. 

FERRY 

(rising). I have to go now,—my wife is 
at the house of a friend, and probably al¬ 
ready waiting for me to take her home;—so 
good night. 

CARVER. 

Good night, Ferry. 

Exit FERRY up the street to the right. 

CARVER 

(looking at his watch). Past ten o’clock. 
Time to close up. 




205 


Enter BURKE and MEYER coming up 
the street from the left. 

MEYER 

(as he and BIJRKE sit down, to CAR¬ 
VER). So dare yas someting loose in de 
Council last night? 

BURKE 

(to CARVER). And sure it made me 
jist awful mad wliin Oi heard a feller say 
to-day that it was your fault. 

CARVER 

(to BURKE). He was partly right, and 
I’ll tell you how it happened. Tipps, the 
chairman of the Lighting Committee,— 

MEYER 

(to CARVER). Ain’t Dibbs unter inde- 
vestigation? 

CARVER 

(to MEYER). Tipps himself made a mo¬ 
tion that the president of the Council ap- 




20G 


point a committee of three to investigate liis 
conduct, and, on suggestion of Rixby, the 
creation of an obligation for a thousand dol¬ 
lars for expenses was incorporated in the 
resolution. 

MEYER 

(to CARVER). Maybe de only ting, vich 
botters Dibbs, is to get a big enough shlice 
of dose tousand dollars. 


CARVER 

(to MEYER). The committee will prob¬ 
ably exonerate Tipps, because he swore that 
no bribe had ever been given or even offered 
to him. 

BURKE 

(to CARVER). What were you goin to 
sav about him? 

CARVER. 

As chairman of the Lighting Committee, 
he reported last night that the Committee 
had extended the time, allowed Foley to file 
a two hundred thousand dollar bond, twenty 


207 


days longer, and in spite of my protest and 
advice, that a new call for bids be made, its 
action was sustained by a majority of two 
votes, five of our men voting with the other 
side. 

MEYER. 

Dat’s bad. 

CARVER. 

I said, that the only object of Foley’s bid, 
was to procure a delay in the letting of the 
lightning contract, in the interest of the 
Standard Gas Light Company. 

BURKE. 

That’s what. 

CARVER, 

Tipps asked me in derision: “What are 
you going to do about it?” 

MEYER. 

Vhat dit shoo sav? 

CARVER, 

Advocate the acquirement of municipal 
gas-works, I retorted. 


208 


MEYER. 

Bully for slioo! 

«/ 


BURKE 

(to CARVER). That was a cracker- 
jack answer for sure. 

CARVER. 

I also said that the general tendency of 
late years, had been to have the manufac¬ 
ture of gas carried on by municipalities, and 
quoted figures from various cities where 
this is done. After pointing out the advan¬ 
tages, that would result if we followed their 
example, I appealed to the Council to pro¬ 
tect the citizens from a monopoly that had 
mulcted them for years, to enable it to pay 
a yearly ten per cent dividend on a capital 
stock five times the value of its plant. Turn¬ 
ing from one to the other of the five rene¬ 
gades, I told them that subserviency to the 
interests of the Standard Gas Light Com¬ 
pany, at the expense of the City, was a vio¬ 
lation of their oaths, and forfeited their 


209 


claim to be looked upon as liouest men ever 
afterwards. 

MEYER. 

And den, Mr. Carver? 


CARVER 

(to MEYER). When I saw some of the 
renegades join in the applause, I immedi¬ 
ately made a motion for the Council to form 
itself into a Committee of the Whole, with 
the president as chairman, to consider, at 
the earliest possible date, the acquirement 
by the City of a gas-manufacturing plant 
before January 1st, when the present con¬ 
tract with the Standard Gas Light Com¬ 
pany expires. 

MEYER. 

And den? 

CARVER. 

The storm broke loose, and, in the midst 
of the tumult, the president of the Council, 
after mumbling something that nobody 
could understand, shouted out that on mo- 


210 


tion of Tipps, seconded by Rixby, the Coun¬ 
cil had adjourned for a week. But before I 
left the Council Chamber, three of the rene¬ 
gades shook me by the hand, and promised 
me their support. 

MEYER 

(to CARVER). And do shoo really tink 
dat shoo vill bring it trough, dat vee get 
city gas-voorks? 

CARVER. 

Even if I am not successful, the projected 
measure may, nevertheless, serve to coerce 
not only the Standard Gas Light Company 
to reduce its price, but also its competitors 
to do the same, if any of them should unex¬ 
pectedly remain in the field. Of course, this 
is confidential. 

MEYER 

(to CARVER). Ve vill be as silent as 
the grafe about it. 

BURKE 

(to CARVER). Sure, Mr. Carver, at 
least so far as Oi’m concerned. 


211 


MEYER 


(to CARVER). Shoo know very veil dat 
shoo can depent on me too yet. - 

CARVER 

(to MEYER). Certainly, Mr. Meyer. 

MEYER 

(to CARVER). And I vill tell slioo now 
vliat I have already tought for a long time, 
and dat is dat it may be best yet, dat is later 
on, dat de City supplies de citizens, not only 
mit gas, but mit all otter such tings, namely 
dose tings vich dav need very bad and must 

O t/ */ 

have. 

CARVER 

(to MEY r ER). I think so, too, Mr. 
Meyer, and it is my firm conviction, that the 
establishment of public ownership, for all 
public utilities, is the only remedy for a dis¬ 
ease gnawing at the vitals of our country. 
But, in order to be free from danger, a far- 
reaching national, state, and municipal 


212 


> 


civil service reform must precede its general 
adoption. First of all, appointments to 
offices and their retention must be depend¬ 
ent on merit, and removed from the demor¬ 
alizing influences of machine politicians 
and ringsters. 


MEYER 

/ 

(to CARVER). Yliy, of course, Mr. Car¬ 
ver, for if dat, vhat shoo say dare, vas not 
done first, den pooblic ownership, it vould 
have too much shenanikens and monkey 
biziness in it, and vould gif, for exemple, 
de politicians, running dis City, such a big 
push behind deni dat no Deibel could effer 
kick dem out again. 

CARVER 

(to MEYER). I understand you, Mr. 
Mever: you would like to see public owner- 
ship established on a sound and healthy 
basis, free from schemes of any kind, save 
those for the public welfare. 


213 


MEYER 


(to CARVER). Exectly, Mr. Carver, 
exectly; and now dare vas anotter ting,— 


BURKE 


( rising, to MEYER). Holy Patrick, you 
Dutchman, Moyer, don't be after givin' us 
another spache. If we don't git to work, 
our customers won't git their bread to-mor¬ 
row. 


MEYER 

(rising). Hat's so, Irish, but vliat I vas 
going to say, it von't take me no more den 
a minute yet, and it vas dis; (to CAR¬ 
VER.) namely, dat Johanna Wacker, our 
servant-girl, vants to send a letter mit 
money to Shermanv, and I told her to see 
shoo about getting a draft. 

CARVER 

(rising, to MEYER). I'll be glad to ac¬ 
commodate her. 


214 


MEYER 


(to CARVER). Tank slioo, Mr. Carver. 

CARVER 

(to MEYER). How’s the bakery busi¬ 
ness? 

MEYER 

(to CARVER). Every ting vould be nice 
if Eoorke vould only quit to be so coontry 
as a mool again sometimes. 


BURKE 

(to CARVER). And sure it’s his own 
fault. Why must Moyer always be after 
havin’ the last word? 

MEYER 

(going up the street to the right , angrily 
to BURKE). It vould be too foolish to be 
shcolding longer around mit shoo here yet. 
—Donnerwetter! ( Exit up the street to the 
right.) 


215 


BURKE 


(following MEYER). Hold on, Moyer, 
wliat’s the matter? (Exit after MEYER.) 

Enter MRS. CARVER from the store. 


MRS. CARVER. 

Were Mr. Burke and Mr. Meyer quarrel¬ 


ling? 


CARVER. 

Only a little spat as usual. 


Enter JOHANNA WACKER coming 
down the street from the right. 

JOHANNA WACKER 

(to CARVER). I eh diene bei Meyer’s, 
und wollte Sie bitten,— 


CARVER 

(to JOHANNA WACKER). Ich weiss 
schon. Kommen Sie herein. 

CARVER and JOHANNA WACKER 
enter the store. LITTLE JOHN CARVER 


216 



comes out, he and liis mother sitting down 
near each other, hotli facing the street to 
the right. 

LITTLE JOHN CARVER, 

Mamma, that's Meyer's servant girl. 

LITTLE JOHN CARVER continues to 
speak to his mother in a subdued tone, and 
CARVER is seen writing from MISS 
WACKER’S dictation. She also hands him 
a little package. Hereupon they carry on 
a conversation. 

Enter DICKSON and PLOWMAN, com¬ 
ing down the alley from the right. They 
remain standing near the street. 


DICKSON 

{pointing to CARVER 'S house). Car¬ 
ver lives over there. The door lias an old 
fashioned lock, and I can easily pick it. 
You'll find it open. I've got the cop on this 
heat boozy already. He won't bother you. 


217 


PLOWMAN. 


I can't do it. 


DICKSON. 

Don’t be cliicken-liearted. 

PLOWMAN. 

If harm should come to innocent ones. 

DICKSON. 

No fear of that. I'll turn on the fire 
alarm in time. Carver's store will be gut¬ 
ted; that's all. 

PLOWMAN. 

No, I can't. 

DICKSON. 

Think of your wife, and the wrong Car¬ 
ver has done her, and you too. ( Taking 
hold of PLOWMAN'S arm, and pointing to 
CARVER, who steps up to JOHANNA 
WACKER and puts his hand on her 
shoulder.) Look, look! See what lie’s doing 
now,—the lecherous rascal. Remember 
your wife. 


218 



PLOWMAN. 

I'll do it; I'll be here. 

DICKSON 

(■drawing PLOWMAN back as CARVER 
and JOHANNA WACKER slowly approach 
the door of the store) . Stand back; they're 
coming out. After the job is done, run to 
your boarding house. To-morrow I’ll give 

t/ o o 

you five hundred dollars, and a railroad 
ticket for any place you wish to go to. 

Exeunt DICKSON and PLOWMAN up 
the alley to the right. 

JOHANNA WACKER 

(as CARVER steps out of the store with 
her). Noclimals meinen lierzlichsten Dank. 

CARVER 

(shaking hands with JOHANNA 
WACKER). Bitte sehr. 

JOHANNA WACKER departs up the 
street to the right. 


219 


LITTLE JOHN CARVER 


(as his father sits down, laughing ). Her 
hands are so rough and clumsy. 

o 


CARVER 

(to LITTLE JOHN CARVER). Come 
here, my son. (LITTLE JOHN CARVER 
seats himself on his father's knee.) Her 
hands got rough in the performance of hard 
work. She told me that she was hired out 
at the age of fourteen, and, though she al¬ 
ways gave her parents a part of her wages, 
she saved one hundred and fifty dollars in 

e/ 

the course of five years, which she gave to 
the family of a married sister to enable them 
to come to America. 

LITTLE JOHN CARVER. 

That was nice, papa. 

CARVER. 

After a couple of years she again man¬ 
aged to save a little money, and used half 
of it to come to America herself, and 


220 


gave the other half to her parents. Ah 
though in this country only a year, she has 
already saved a small sum, which she has 
just brought me to send to her folks at home. 

LITTLE JOHN CARVER 

(to his father). Are there many people 
like Miss Wacker? 

CARVER. 

Yes, my boy, there are thousands like her, 
and it does one good to meet one of them. 

Enter MR. and MRS. FERRY, coming 
doicn the street from the right. 


MRS. FERRY 

(to MRS. CARVER). Quite a surprise 
to find you folks up yet. 

MRS. CARVER. 


Yes, Mrs. Ferry, it is a little late. 


221 


MRS. FERRY 


(to CARVER). We almost ran into 
Dickson a few minutes ago. 

FERRY 

(to CARVER). He was with another 
man, both with their hats partly drawn over 
their faces. They were whispering to each 
other, and looking in this direction. 


MRS. CARVER 

(to CARVER). Please, John, be on your 
guard. 

o 

CARVER 

(to MRS. CARVER). How often have I 
told you, my dear, that your fears are 
groundless. 

MRS. CARVER 

(to CARVER). The way Dickson looked 
at you, when he was in the store on the even¬ 
ing of your nomination,—his vicious 
glances,—they still haunt me. 


222 



FERRY 


(to MRS. CARVER). "The Daily Rec¬ 
ord" has fully exposed Dickson’s character. 
He’s no longer able to do any mischief. 

MRS. FERRY 

(to MRS. CARVER). Since that affair 
with O’Finnigan, Dickson has been the 
laughing-stock of the community. But it’s 
time to go now. 

CARVER 

(to MRS. FERRY). What’s your hurry, 
Mrs. Ferry? 

MRS. FERRY 

(to CARVER). It’s getting very late; 
we must go home. (Taking hold of 
FERRY’S arm.) Come on. 

FERRY. 

Good-niglit, all. 


CARVER and MRS. CARVER. 


Good-night. 


223 


LITTLE JOHN CARVER 

(as MR. and MRS. FERRY depart down 
the street to the left). Good-night. (He 
carries in the chairs .) 

MRS. CARVER 

(to CARVER). Can I help you in any¬ 
thing? 

CARVER. 

No, my dear, you have done more than 
your share already to-day. 

Exeunt MRS. CARVER and her son into 
the store. CARVER follows them and locks 
the door. 

Enter DICKSON, coming down the street 
from the right, as CARVER turns the gas 
lower. 

DICKSON 

(to himself). I'll open the door now, and 
turn off the gas. Gallagher is boozy enough 
to see anything I want him to see. 


224 


Enter PLOWMAN, coming down the al¬ 
ley from the right , as DICKSON enters the 
store. PLOWMAN remains standing at the 
mouth of the alley. 

PLOWMAN 

(looking up and down the street). No¬ 
body in sight. It's almost time. (Running 
towards DICKSON, as the latter comes out 
of the store , in a half-suppressed voice.) 
Say, Dickson ! Dickson ! 

t/ / 


DICKSON 


(meeting PLOWMAN in the middle of 
the street). What is it, Plowman? 

PLOWMAN. 

Is it time? Shall I go in? 

DICKSON. 

Not yet. I first want to pilot the cop from 
Ballard’s saloon to Schenck’s place. (Exit 
up the street to the right.) 


225 


PLOWMAN 


(looking towards CARVER’S house as he 
returns to the mouth of the alley). Only 
liis house will be gutted; that’s all. Noth¬ 
ing to what he deserves. (Standing at the 
mouth of the alley and shaking his fist in 
the direction of CARVER’S house.) He 
ought to be shot down like a mad dog,— 
strung up. ( Looking up the street to the 
right.) Here comes Dickson with the cop. 

Enter DICKSON and GALLAGHER, a 
policeman, coming down the street from the 
right, the latter very much under the in¬ 
fluence of liquor. 

GALLAGHER 

(hiccoughing). N—n—n—no use talk¬ 
ing, B—B—B—Ballard makes a fine c—c— 
c—cock-tail. (Hiccoughing) I—I—I—it 
goes down 1—1—1—like oil. 


DICKSON. 


Schenck at the other end of the street 
beats him. 


226 










GALLAGHER 

(h icco ugh ing). G—g—g—get out. 

DICKSON. 

Let’s go there. 

GALLAGHER. 

I’m w—w—w—with you. 

/ 

DICKSON 

(as they pass CARVER’S store). Hello! 
there’s Carver still in the store. 

GALLAGHER 

(looking into the store). W—w—w— 
what? 

DICKSON 

(looking into the store). Carver's mak¬ 
ing a grand clean-out. He has swept to¬ 
gether a big pile of paper and stuff in the 
rear of the store. 

GALLAGHER 

(continuing to look into the store). I— 
d—d—d—don’t see Carver. 


227 







DICKSON 


(touching GALLAGHER’S arm). Don't 

von see him back there in the corner? Don't 

yon see him? 

«/ 

GALLAGHER. 

Ye—ye—ve—ves, ves,—I guess so. 

e/ / ft/ / o 


DICKSON 


(drawing GALLAGHER away). It's 
strange that Carver should pile up a lot of 
inflammable rubbish at this time of the 
night. 

o 

GALLAGHER. 

You b—b—b—bet it is. 


DICKSON 

(supporting GALLAGHER as he stag¬ 
gers). Steady, old man. 

GALLAGHER 

(with a sigh). Oh,—I'm so w—w—w— 
weak; I can hardly s—s—s—stand. That 


228 





c—e—c—cocktail,—1—1—1—let’sgetit. It’ll 
b—b—b—brace me up. 

DICKSON 

(as GALLAGHER, with his assistance, 
staggers down the street to the left). All 
right, Gallagher, come on. Schenck’s cock¬ 
tail will cure you. 

/ 

Exeunt DICKSON and GALLAGHER 
down the street to the left. 

PLOWMAN runs across the street and 
enters the store. 

(The curtain drops.) 


229 





ACT V. 


SCENE 1 — A. room on the first floor in 
FERRY’S house. The side towards the 
rear of the stage has two windows> and 
faces a street. A door to the left leads to a 
hall, and a door to the right to an adjoining 
room. A table stands near the right side 
of the room to the front, and a sofa under 
one of the windows. Several pictures stand 
on the floor in a corner. A number of chairs 
stand about the room. 

TIME —Early in the evening, towards the 
end of August, six days after the time of 
Scene II of Act l V. 

A meeting of the City Council is to be 
held later in the evening. 

LITTLE JOHN CARVER and ANNIE 
PLOWMAN are seated on the sofa. 


230 



ANNIE PLOWMAN. 


I liked it at your papa's house ever so 
much more than here. But wasn’t that an 
awful night, the night of the lire? 


LITTLE JOHN CARVER. 

Yes, it was. Mamma smelled the smoke 
first, and she told papa, and, when papa 
opened the door to go down stairs, a whole 
lot of black smoke got in the room. 


ANNIE PLOWMAN. 

And then your mamma took me in her 

t j 

arms,— 

LITTLE JOHN CARVER. 

And papa took me. 

ANNIE PLOWMAN. 

And they carried us out by the back-stairs. 

LITTLE JOHN CARVER, 

And then papa told mamma to take us to 
Mr. Ferry’s house. Everything in the store 


231 


seemed to be on fire; but papa wasn’t afraid, 
and I saw him run into the store and throw 
out books. 


ANNIE PLOWMAN. 

And at Mr. Ferry’s house we were put to 
bed, but I couldn’t sleep for a long while. 


LITTLE JOHN CARVER. 

I couldn’t sleep either, and kept awake 
till papa came. I thought he would be aw¬ 
ful sorry about the fire, but he wasn’t at all. 
He told mamma we ought to be thankful 
that we had escaped, and that the engines 
had come in time to save our house from 
being burned down, and keep the fire from 
spreading; and when I heard papa speak 
that way, I felt all right again, and before 
I knew it, I was sound asleep. 

ANNIE PLOWMAN. 

I hope that the house will soon be fixed 
up again. 


232 


LITTLE JOHN CARVER. 

Papa hasn't got the money yet. There 
were lying stories in some of the newspapers 
about the fire, and that’s why the Insurance 
Company won't pay papa’s insurance. 

ANNIE PLOWMAN. 

What will he do about it? 

LITTLE JOHN CARVER. 

He got Lawyer Case to help him. 

Enter CARVER. 

CARVER 

(hissing the children, who run towards 
him). Well, well! How are my darlings? 

ANNIE PLOWMAN 

(departing through the door to the left, to 
CARVER). I’ll tell auntie you’re here. 

CARVER. 

All right, my dear. 


233 


CARVER sits at the table and looks over 
some papers. 

CARVER 

(as LITTLE JOHN CARVER h caves a 
sigh). What’s the matter, my boy? 

LITTLE JOHN CARVER. 

I’m only thinking, papa. 

CARVER. 

About what? 


LITTLE JOHN CARVER. 

About mamma; sometimes, when she 
thinks nobody is looking, I see tears running 
down her cheeks. 

CARVER 

(tenderly). Never mind, my boy; after 
the clouds have passed away the sun shines 
all the brighter. (Rising and gently push¬ 
ing LITTLE JOHN CARVER to the door 
to the left.) And now go and play with 


234 


Annie. To-morrow, maybe, I'll join in the 
play. 

LITTLE JOHN CARVER. 
(departing) . We'll be ever so glad. 


Enter FERRY 
the desk. 


as CARVER returns to 


FERRY 


(sitting down on a chair near the desk). 
Working on your speech for to-night’s 
council meeting? 


CARVER. 

No, Ferry, I'm looking over my accounts 
to see liow much money I can collect; but 
I’m afraid it won’t be half enough. Wiley 

O 1/ 

informed me to-day that he would foreclose 
the mortgage on my house if not paid on 
September 15th, when it becomes due. 


FERRY. 

By that time you’ll have your insurance 
monev. 

t. 


235 


CARVER 


(with a bitter smile). I have to look 
around for another lawyer; Case withdrew, 

FERRY 

(in surprise). After he agreed to pro¬ 
cure a settlement with the Insurance Com¬ 
pany, eight thousand dollars for the goods, 
and two thousand for the house? 

CARVER. 

When I went to his office this afternoon, 
Mr. Case gave me back the hundred dollar 
retainer, which I had paid him, and said, 
that, on account of an important lawsuit, 
he was not in a position to serve me any 
longer. 

FERRY. 

It's the most dishonorable conduct I ever 
heard of, and I’m convinced the Standard 
Gas Light Company has something to do 
with it. By the wav, does Mrs. Carver know 
anvthing about this? 

t/ o 


236 


CARVER. 

I thought it best to tell lier. 


FERRY 

(looking at CARVER tvith compassion). 
Have you written to Rector? 

CARVER. 

I did, and expect a reply to-day. 

FERRY. 

I'll raise twenty-five hundred dollars on 
this house, and let you have the money. 


CARVER 

(grasping FERRY’S hand). Under no 
circumstances will I allow you to jeopardize 
the welfare of your family for me. 


Enter MRS. CARVER from the left , smil¬ 
ing. 

MRS. CARVER. 

Please come to supper, Mr. Ferry. (To 
CARVER as she takes hold of his arm.) 
Come on, John. 


237 


Exeunt CARVER, MRS. CARVER and 
FERRY through the door to the left. 

PLOWMAN appears at the open window 
above the sofa until a revolver in his hand . 

PLOWMAN 

(cautiously putting his head through the 
windoio and scanning the interior of the 
room). No rest; I had to return. Ell 
catch him alone, and take sure aim. One 
bullet for him and one for me. Then it's 
all over. 

Enter LITTLE JOHN CARVER and 
ANNIE PLOWMAN. PLOWMAN quickly 
withdraws his head as they enter. 

LITTLE JOHN CARVER 

{as he and ANNIE PLOWMAN seat 
the nisei res on the sofa). Papa said, that, 
maybe, he'd play with us to-morrow. 

PLOWMAN appears at the window 
again. Recognizing his daughter , he places 
his hand to his ear to catch every word). 


238 


ANNIE PLOWMAN. 


Uncle and Auntie Carver are always so 
nice, and they were so kind to mamma. At 
first only auntie came, and then when mam¬ 
ma got so awful sick, auntie often brought 
uncle along; and mamma told me that I 
should always love Air. and Mrs. Carver, 
and, after mamma died, they told me that 
they would be my papa and mamma until 
my own papa returned. 

PLOWMAN 

(in a voice of distress as he hurries 
away). What have I done? 

ANNIE PLOWMAN. 

What was that? 

LITTLE JOHN CARVER 

(looking out of the window). I can’t see 
anything. 

ANNIE PLOWMAN 

(as LITTLE JOHN CARVER resumes 
liis seat on the sofa). And poor uncle has 
so much trouble. 


239 


LITTLE JOHN CARVER. 


Couldn’t we do something to make papa 
feel happy,—if only for a little while? 
(Hi sing and going to the pictures in the 
corner.) I’ll hang grandma’s picture 
(Pointing to the table.) oyer papa’s table, 
just as it hung at home. That will surprise 
him, won’t it? {He takes his grand-moth¬ 
er's picture and places it on the table.) 

ANNIE PLOWMAN 
{rising). You need a hammer and a nail. 

LITTLE JOHN CARVER 

{taking a nail out of his pocket). I’ve 
got a nail, {(jetting on a chair and taking a 
paper weight from the table.) and we’ll use 
this for a hammer. {As he drives a nail in¬ 
to the wall.) It works all right. {Hang¬ 
ing up the portrait.) See! 

ANNIE PLOWMAN. 

They’re coming. 


240 



LITTLE JOHN CARVER 

(getting down from the chair). Don’t say 
anv tiling. 

ft' o 

Enter CARVER and MRS. CARVER, 
the former sitting down at the table. 

MRS. CARVER. 

Go upstairs for awhile, children. 

LITTLE JOHN CARVER 

(as he and ANNIE PLOWMAN depart 
through the door to the left). Yes, mamma. 

MRS. CARVER 

(smiling). I'll show you that I can raise 
a little money too. 

CARVER 

(as MRS. CARVER departs through the 
door to the right). Don’t do anything fool¬ 
ish, my dear. (To himself.) Poor little 
woman,—always cheerful and smiling,—• 
and I know that her heart is almost break¬ 
ing for my sake. 


241 


MRS. CARVER 


(■returning ivith a jewel-box). This is 
worth at least something. 


CARVER. 
No, my dear, no, no. 


MRS. CARVER. 
Please, John. 


CARVER 

(taking a piece of jewelry out of the box). 
Your mother’s ring. 

MRS. CARVER 

(putting her arm around CARVER’S 
neck). Be good, John. 

CARVER, 

Dearest! 

MRS. CARVER 

(going to the room to the right). I’ll 
find more. (Exit MRS. CARVER into the 


242 


room to the right, leaving the door partly 
open.) 

CARVER 

(brokenly). Her devotion almost un¬ 
nerves me. 

Enter MRS. FERRY. 

MRS. FERRY. 

A gentleman wishes to see you. 

CARVER, 

Please tell him to come in. 

Exit MRS. FERRY. 

Enter MEACHAM. 

MEACHAM 

(as he shakes CARVER'S hand). How 
are you, my dear sir? (Seating himself to 
the left of CARVER.) I’m sorry you've had 
such bad luck, and I'm ready to do everv- 
thing in my power to help you. 


243 


CARVER. 


I desire no assistance from you. 

MEACHAM. 

Is that the way to talk to a friend, a true 
friend? 

CARVER. 

I have work on hand, and should like to 
finish it before going to the council meeting 
to-night. 

MEACIIAM 

( surprised ). To the council meeting? 
And let your enemies tell you to your face, 
that you set your store on fire to get the in- 
surance? You know the papers openly in¬ 
timate this, and have published statements 
made by Dickson and Policeman Gallagher, 
to the effect that they saw you acting in an 
extremely suspicions manner just before 
the fire broke out. There is no doubt that 
the grand-jury will indict you. 

CARVER. 

I shall go, nevertheless. 


244 


MEACHAM 


(angrily). Preposterous! Any effort on 
your part to present plans for municipal 
gas-works will be voted down. You’ll only 
make a laughing stock of yourself. (Laugh¬ 
ing) It’s ridiculous! Have you considered 
the cost of putting up a gas-plant? 

CARVER. 

Col. Evans, the City Engineer, one of the 
best engineering authorities iu the country, 
has furnished me with an estimate. 

MEACHAM. 

Where would the money come from? The 
City is already bonded up to its constitu¬ 
tional limit. 

CARVER. 

It Avill not be difficult to induce a syndi¬ 
cate of capitalists to put up the plant, and 
take a five per cent mortgage on it; and the 
City can easily pay for it out of the profits 
accruing from its operation, without bor¬ 
rowing a dollar, or floating a single bond. 


245 


MEACHAM. 


It wouldn’t be legal. 

o 


CARVER, 

The City Counsellor says it would. 

MEACHAM 

(snapping his fingers). I don’t care that 
for his opinion. It’s rank foolishness to en¬ 
tertain the idea of municipal gas-works. 


CARVER, 

It is perfectly feasible. 


MEACHAM. 

Its bugaboo nature is too apparent to 
scare us, and especially so in view of the 
fact, that the price asked by the Standard 
Gas Light Company is not excessive. 

CARVER. 

Pardon me, sir, it is excessive. 


246 


MEACHAM. 


You’re mistaken. 

CARVER. 

Colonel Evans and myself investigated 
tlie subject thoroughly. 

MEACHAM. 

Professor Bridgman, of Kensington Col¬ 
lege, testified before the Lighting Commit¬ 
tee that the price is perfectly fair, and that 
it is doubtful if gas can be sold cheaper 
without incurring a loss. 


CARVER. 

Kensington College owns some shares of 
the Standard Gas Light Company, and the 
testimony of Professor Bridgman shows 
how the insidious ramifications of a dishon¬ 
est corporation may even infest an institu¬ 
tion, which should, above everything else, 
be the guardian and promoter of public 
morals. 


247 


MEACHAM. 


But not of idealistic idiosyncrasies. I 
glory in Professor Bridgman’s practical 
business judgment. 

CARVER. 

In making a false statement? 


MEACHAM. 

The Lighting Committee considers his tes¬ 
timony to be correct, and there is no doubt, 
that not a single one of the other bids is bona 
fide; they were only put in to get a rake-off 
from the Standard Gas Light Company. 

CARVER. 

I shall do my utmost to uphold the alter¬ 
native : Municipal gas-works, or cheaper 
gas for the City and private consumers. 


MEACHAM. 

Private consumers don't concern you. 


248 


CARVER. 


The Council can regulate the price of gas 
for private consumption. 


MEACHAM 
(loudly). It cannot. 

CARVER. 

Even as far back as twenty years ago, the 
Legislature conferred on the City Govern- 
ment the power to regulate the price and 
quality of gas for private consumption, and 
the power has never been revoked. 

MEACHAM 

(rising, angrily and loudly). Damn the 
Legislature! I defy von and the Council to 

1/ ts 

make the attempt. 

CARVER, 

I scorn your defiance. 

e- 

Enter FERRY through the door to the 
left, 'unnoticed, by CARVER and 


249 


MEACH AM. He remains standing in the 
door-way. 

MEACHAM 

(cooling down and seating himself 
again). I beg your pardon; excuse my 
hasty words. ( Suppliantly) But be assured 
that your opposition is no longer of any sig¬ 
nificance. Even “The Daily Record ’ 7 has 
shut down on you, and a majority of the 
council-men are on our side. Besides, you 
must bear in mind that we possess an irre¬ 
sistible power,—Money, and that we are 
ready to spend it freely. Your stubbornness 
may increase the expense, but eventually 
we shall win. You cannot alter existing con¬ 
ditions ; so conform to them, and cease your 
opposition. Stay away from the council 
meeting to-niglit, and you won’t be the loser. 


CARVER 

{anxiously, as he rests his elbows on the 
desk and covers his face with his hands). 
Leave me. 


250 


ME AC LIAM. 


Listen to me, for tlie sake of your family, 
listen to me. I have evidence that will clear 
you of suspicion in connection with the fire. 
Your insurance shall be paid, and the mort¬ 
gage on your house released. ( Whispering ) 
As a loan, merely as a loan, I will let you 
have five thousand dollars. ( Receiving no 
reply from CARVER, MEACHAM takes a 
package out of his inside coat-pocket and 
continues.) I have it with me. (Putting 
the package on the table at CARVER'S el- 
how.) You will find it on the table. (Ris¬ 
ing and touching CARVER’S arm.) Good¬ 
night, mv dear sir. 


CARVER strikes his forehead in despair. 
He looks up. and recognizes the picture of 
his mother. 

CARVER, 

a 

No! (Rising and taking the package from 
the table.) No! ( Throwing the package at 

M EACH AM'S feet, and scattering the 
money on the floor. ) No! 


251 


Enter FERRY and MRS. CARVER, the 
latter regarding CARVER with exulting ad¬ 
miration. 

FERRY 

(tahing hold of MEACHAM by the coat- 
collar, and shaking him). Pick that up! 

MEACHAM. 

Don’t, Mr. Ferry, don’t. 


FERRY 

(coni inn ing to sh akc M EACH AM). Pick 
that up. 

MEACHAM. 

It was only intended for a loan. 

FERRY 

(bending MEACHAM down and continu¬ 
ing to shake him). Pick that up. (As 
MEACHAM complies with the request.) 
And that, and that, and that. (After 
MEACHAM has picked up the money.) 
Now get out. (Pushing MEACHAM to the 
door to the left.) Get out. 


252 


Exeunt FERRY and ME AC I TAM 
through the door to the left. 

MRS. CARVER 

{flinging herself into CARVER’S arms 
and kissing him , while a noisy tumult is 
heard outside). Though we lose everything, 
I shall always be happy as long as I have 
you,— 

Enter LITTLE JOHN CARVER. 

MRS. CARVER 

(continuing). And our little boy. (Tak¬ 
ing hold of her son's hand.) Kiss your 
father. 

LITTLE JOHN CARVER 

(as his father lifts him up). Papa’s cry¬ 
ing. 

CARVER 

(kissing his son). No tears of sorrow, 
my boy, but of joy. I can still, without 
flinching, look every one straight in the face. 

Enter FERRY, BURKE and MEYER 
through the door to the left. 


253 



CARVER 


(putting down liis son and grasping 
FERRY’S hand). Friend! 


FERRY 

(to CARVER). No prouder distinction 
could be conferred upon me. 

MEYER 

"(shaking hands with CARVER). Ferry, 
lie lias told us everyting already. 


BURKE 

(shaking hands with CARVER). Holy 
Patrick! what a man! 


MEYER. 

A man of de reg’lar old shot and corn. 


CARVER 

(to MEYER). I’ve only done my duty. 

254 




BURKE 


(to CARVER). Sure, no political office 
is too hoigh for you, and you kin depind on 
it for sartain, that we’ll sind you to Con¬ 
gress yit. 

O f 

CARVER makes a deprecatory motion of 
the hand to BURKE. 

MEYER 

(to BURKE). Donnerwetter nocli mal! 
Carver, he shan’t go to Congress; vee need 
him yet too bad at home, and, after his time 
in de City Council is over, he must go back 
to de Shkool Board. 

BURKE 

(to MEYER). He’s too big a man. 

FERRY 

(to BURKE). There’s not a man living 
who’s too big for the School Board, and it 
would be a blessing if a man like Carver em¬ 
bodied some of his sentiments in our system 
of public education. (To CARVER.) You 


255 


did good work when you were a member of 
the School Board a few years ago, and you 
often told me that the principles of human¬ 
ity should be implanted at school, and that 
there the sacredness and importance of obe¬ 
dience to parents, as well as to the laws of 
the country, and of justice, should be taught. 


CARVER. 


And from living examples, and in a man¬ 
ner adapted to the understanding of the 
children. 


FERRY 

(to CARVER). Then they would grow 
up to be good citizens, conscious of their ob¬ 
ligation to the community, and aware of the 
fact that the line, separating right from 
wrong, is the same in politics as in every¬ 
thing else. 


CARVER. 

Yes, political reform must begin in the 
school-room. 


256 


MEYER 


(to CARVER). Dat’s vhat I say, and for 
dat vary reason, so dat such a reform is 
shtarted in our own slikools here, vee yant 
shoo to shtay home and go back to de Shkool 
Board. 

BURKE 


(to MEYER). And sure you’re roight, 
Moyer. 

t/ 

MEYER 

(to BURKE). Hello! Vhat is los mit 
shoo? It’s de first time, in a long time, dat 
shoo gif me right vonce again. 


BURKE 

(to MEYER). But sure not the last 
toime, if you repate agin what you jist said 
about Carver, and, if you say the same thing 
over agin, Oi’ll forgive and forgit ivery- 
thing. and on top of it (Taking off his hat 
and swinging it.) Oi‘11 shout: Hurrah for 
Carver! 


257 


CARVER, 


I thank you, gentlemen, for your kind feel¬ 
ing towards me. (Looking at his watch.) 
And now I must go; the Council will meet 
shortly. 

FERRY 

(to CARVER). I’ll accompany you. 

MEYER 

(to CARVER). And so vill me and 
Boorke. Dat’s vliat vee came here for, and, 
shoost as vee vas coming into de house, vee 
saw how Ferry vas giving dat Meacham de 
grand bounce. 


BURKE 

(to CARVER). Bejabers, Meacham 
landed all in a heap, and roight in the mid¬ 
dle of the street. 


MRS. CARVER 

(anxiously, to BURKE). Was he hurt? 


258 


BURKE 


(to MRS. CARVER). No ma’am, for, 
whin me and Moyer wint up to where he was 
lyin', Meaeham got up in a jiffy, and ske¬ 
daddled down the street jist as fast as his 
ligs could carry him. 

CARVER. 

Let us go, gentlemen. 

Enter RECTOR, carrying a valise. 

MRS. CARVER 
(in surprise). Mr. Rector! 


CARVER 

(in surprise ). Rector! 

RECTOR 

(dropping his valise and grasping CAR¬ 
VER'S hands). My dear Mr. Carver. 


BURKE. 

Bully for you, Mr. Rector. 


259 


FERRY. 


Just in time. 

MEYER. 

Donnerwetter uoeli mat! Famos! 

BURKE 

(embracing MEYER and dancing around 
with Mm), Donnerwetter! Famos! 

(The curtain drops.) 

SCENE II—The library in RICHEY’S 
house. 

TIME —Early in the afternoon of the fol¬ 
lowing day. 

MAGGIE is engaged in cleaning the 
room. 

Enter MRS. FERRY. 

MRS. FERRY. 

Is Miss Ella home? 


260 





MAGGIE. 


No, Mrs.-Ferry, I believe that she and her 
aunt went to Mr. Richey’s office to ask him 
to come home early, because he looked so 
worn out this morning, and I shouldn't 
wonder if it’s all on account of Mr. 
Meacham. He was here late last night, and 
raised an awful fuss, and when he left he 
kept shouting in the hall: “It’s your fault; 
all vour own fault.’ 7 


MRS. PERRY 

{handing MAGGIE a letter). A letter for 
Miss Ella. 

MAGGIE 

{accepting the letter). I'll give it to her 
as soon as she conies home. And what's the 
matter, Mrs. Ferry? You’re smiling all 
over. 

MRS. FERRY. 

Mrs. Carver’s brother in Montana sent a 
letter with a bank-check for fifteen hundred 
dollars. He struck it rich in the mine on 


261 


which lie ? s been working so long, and wrote 
that lie would be able to pay back in a short 
time all the money, which Carver advanced 
to Mrs. Carver's father. 

MAGGIE. 

Miss Ella will be awful glad to hear it; 
she thinks so much of Mr. and Mrs. Carver. 


MRS. FERRY. 

I told Mrs. Carver long ago that her 
brother might have luck vet, and now it 

O t/ 7 

turns out that I was right. And maybe I 
have also cause to smile on Miss Ella's ac¬ 
count. Be careful that nobody sees the let¬ 
ter. 

MAGGIE. 

I'll look out for that. 

MRS. FERRY 

(departing through the door to the right). 
I feel sure Miss Ella will find good news in 
it. 


262 


MAGGIE 


{after MRS. FERRY'S departure). Just 
as if there wasn’t good news in all the let¬ 
ters Mrs. Ferry brought lately. Every sin- 
gle one of them made Miss Ella the happiest 
person in the world,—and I'm sure they're 
all from Mr. Rector. My gracious, wouldn’t 
there be a racket in the house, if the old man 
found it out? 

Enter ELLA in street-apparel y through 
the door to the right. 

ELLA RICHEY. 

Papa came home with us and is resting 
in the parlor. Please see to it that he isn't 
disturbed. 

MAGGIE. 

Yes, Miss Ella, I will. ( Handing ELLA 
the letter.) And Mrs. Ferry brought this 
letter. 

ELLA RICHEY 

(accepting the letter and clasping MAG¬ 
GIE'S hand with both hands). Thank you, 
Maggie. 


263 



MAGGIE departs and ELLA RICHEY 
opens the letter. As she reads she impresses 
a kiss upon it. 

Enter MARY RICHEY through the door 
to the right. 


ELLA RICHEY 

(in a jubilant voice). Alfred lias re¬ 
turned. ( Kissing her aunt.) He arrived 
last night, and is stopping at Mr. Ferry’s. 
(In a determined voice.) I’ll go there im¬ 
mediately and ask him to help papa. 

MARY RICHEY. 

Why, I’m sure Mr. Rector is the last man 
whose assistance vour father desires. He 
may show him the door again. 

ELLA RICHEY 

(ivith flashing eyes). He shall help papa 
in spite of his protests, and then papa will 
get to know Alfred, ( Kissing her aunt.) 
and to know Alfred is to love him. (Again 
kissing her aunt.) I feel so strange,—I 


264 


could laugh and cry,—all at the same time. 
(Departing through the door to the right.) 
And now Fll go to Alfred. ( Exit ELLA 
RICHEY.) 


MARY RICHEY 

(after ELLA RICHEY’S departure). Let 
her follow the promptings of her faithful 
heart. 

Enter WILEY through the door to the 
right. 

WILEY 

(in a loud voice). I want to see Richey. 

MARY RICHEY. 

He’s not feeling well, Mr. Wiley, and is 
lying down just now. 


WILEY 

(in the same loud voice). I've got to see 
him on important business. 

Enter RICHEY. His appearance is hag¬ 
gard, and he speaks in a broken and feeble 
voice. 


ft 


265 


RICHEY 


(as MARY RICHEY leaves the roomy to 
WILEY). How are you, Wiley? I thought 
you were still out of the city. 

WILEY 

(excitedly) . I got a telegram informing 
me that gas stock dropped a hundred dollars 
per share. 

Enter MAGGIE through the door to the 
right. 

MAGGIE 

(to RICHEY). Mr. Meacliam. 

RICHEY 

(to MAGGIE). Tell him to come in. 

Exit MAGGIE through the door to the 
right. 

RICHEY. 

He can tell you what happened. 

Enter MEACILAM. 


*■ 


266 


RICHEY 


(seating himself on a, chair } and motion¬ 
ing to the other two to scat themselves also, 
to MEACHAM). Tell Mr. Wiley tlie news 
about Plowman. 

MEACHAM 

(to WILEY). Plowman surrendered 
himself at the Police Station last night, and 
confessed that he set Carver’s house on fire, 
and that Dickson had instigated him to do 
it. 


WILEY 

(to MEACHAM). Curse the luck! 


MEACHAM 

(to WILEY). Ferry overheard me mak¬ 
ing overtures to Carver, and threw me out 
of the house. 


WILEY 


(angrily). What! 


MEACHAM. 


Tlie neAvs of Plowman’s confession spread 
like wildfire, and, after it reached the Coun¬ 
cil, which was in session, Carver had every¬ 
thing his own way. Pie now commands a 
majority of four votes, and there will be an 
extra session next Saturday to give him op¬ 
portunity to submit plans for a municipal 
gas-plant. (WILEY makes a significant 
gesture of extreme anger and disgust.) 
Dickson was arrested this morning on a 
warrant sworn out by Carver, aud is out on 
a five thousand dollar bond, which I pro¬ 
cured for him. 


WILEY 

{anxiously ). He must never go to trial. 


RICHEY 

(to WILEY). Under no circumstances. 
Through Meacham I gave Dickson five 
thousand dollars to get him away. 

268 




MEACHAM 


(to RICHEY). When I handed the 
money to Dickson, he swore like a pirate, 
and said it wasn’t enough, and that he'd see 
you about it. 


WILEY 

(angrily, to RICHEY). A our bungling 
is without precedent. 

RICHEY 

(pointing to MEACHAM, to WILEY). 
That man and Dickson over-reached them¬ 
selves. 

MEACHAM 

(angrily, to RICHEY). I’m not respon¬ 
sible for Dickson’s actions. 

WILEY 

(to RICHEY). What different result 
can be expected if you insist on having a 
Sing Sing graduate in your employ? 

269 


4 


MEACHAM 


(to RICHEY). But for your confounded 
picayunishness this never would have hap¬ 
pened. 

RICHEY 

(to MEACHAM). Didn’t I furnish every¬ 
thing you asked for? 

o •/ 


MEACHAM 

(to RICHEY). When I intimated to you 
several months ago, on the occasion of the 
passage of Wiley’s street-car franchise, that 
I had gotten six of the silk-stockings into a 
receptive condition, and that they were Avill- 
ing to take more lots on Weston Street, did 
you place a single additional foot of ground 
at my disposal, or let me offer them any 
cold cash to boot? Had vou exercised better 
judgment then, we could have nailed those 
six silk-stockings so tight, that Carver 
would never have succeeded in getting them 
loose. 


270 




RICHEY 

(brokenly, to MEACHAM). From your 
own statements at the time, I thought that 
they were satisfied, and that—that we could 
depend upon them. I—I thought— 

MEACHAM 

( sneeringly, to RICHEY). Yes, you 
thought,—thought, but to-day I let you 
know, that four of the chumps have re¬ 
turned to me by mail the deeds for the lots 
on Weston Street. 


WILEY 

(as RICHEY sinks back in his chair, to 
MEACHAM). How can we get out of this 
muddle? 

MEACHAM 

(to WILEY). It will be absolutely im¬ 
possible to do anything with the present 
City Council, and the only way to retain our 
contract, is to make the price of gas low 
enough to meet the approval of Carver. 


271 






Otherwise it can safely be predicted that 
before long the City will own and run its 
own gas-works. 


WILEY 

( rising, angrily to MEACHAM). The 
more I hear, the more Em convinced that 
(.Pointing to RICHEY.) that old fossil 
there is incapacitated for business. ( Exit 
WILEY through the cloor to the right.) 


MEACHAM 

(after WILEY’S departure , to 
RICHEY). I confess that Carver’s suit 
against the Insurance Company bothers me. 

RICHEY 

(to MEACHAM). You had no difficulty 
in inducing Case, Carver’s attorney, to with¬ 
draw. 

MEACHAM. 

Rector is in town, and will, without 
doubt, conduct the suit from now on. 


272 


RICHEY. 


Induce him to withdraw likewise, or at 
least not to molest us. 

MEACHAM. 

It would be useless to make the attempt. 
Rector is not only a close friend of Carver, 
but also a man of unflinching integrity. 

RICHEY. 

Is he a shrewd lawyer? 

MEACHAM. 

One of the brainiest young attorneys in 
the country, and Marshall, McNally and 
Richter, a prominent New York law firm, 
have taken him into partnership. 


RICHEY. 

Then we must arrange for Carver to get 
his insurance money, even if we have to pay 
it. 


273 


MEACHAM. 


Rector will press the suit in any event, 
if for no other purpose than to vindicate 
Carver and to expose us. The thought that 
I have urgent business elsewhere is begin¬ 
ning to dawn forcibly upon my mind. 

RICHEY 

{anxiously ). And leave us in the lurch? 


MEACHAM. 

Even if I remain it wouldn't save vou 
from being put on the witness-stand. 

RICHEY 

{anxiously). I couldn't afford it. 


MEACHAM. 

If you're not prepared to flatly deny 
knowledge of anything and everything of an 
incriminating nature, my advice is that you 
skip also. 


274 


Enter MAGGIE through the door to the 
right. 

MAGGIE. 


Mr. Dickson. 


RICHEY 

(in surprise). What infernal impu¬ 
dence ! 

MEACHAM 

( rising, to RICHEY). Don’t let him 
bluff you. 

RICHEY 

( rising y to MEACHAM). You'll do me a 
favor, if you remain and hear what he has 

7 e/ 

to say. 

t; 

MEACHAM 

I don’t hanker after the society of an ex- 
convict. 

RICHEY 

(not heeding MEACHAM, to MAGGIE). 
Tell the man to come in. 


275 


Exit MAGGIE through the door to the 
right. 

MEACHAM 

(after MAGGIE'S departure, to 
IIICHEY). This business is becoming de¬ 
cidedly disagreeable, and Em glad to sever 
my connection witli it. (. Departing through 
the door to the right.) Good-day, sir. ( Exit 
MEACHAM.) 

RICHEY 

(rising and pacing the floor after 
MEACHAM-S departure). I hardly know 
where I stand. 

Enter DICKSON through the door to the 
right. 

RICHEY 

(angrily). How dare you come here, you 
penitentiary bird? You ought to be sent 
up again. 

DICKSON 

(angrily). Isn't the pentitentiary your 
legitimate home also? Of you and the likes 


276 


of you, who furnish the money, and hire 
others for the dirty work, which you haven’t 
the courage to do yourselves, (Looking 
down on RICHEY with contempt.) You 
cowards. It is you, you prominent ones, 
you pretenders, you robbers under the 
forms of the law, you degenerates, with 
hearts of stone and without a vestige of 
moral power to resist the craving for every¬ 
thing in sight,—and for still more; it is you, 
who tempt anybody and everybody to sell 
their souls for you whenever it suits your 
purpose; not only poor devils like myself; 
you even make deliberate attempts to de¬ 
bauch the highest judicial tribunals, the 
fountains of justice. You are too cowardly 
though, to take any chances yourselves, and 
it was on account of frauds like you that I 
got into the penitentiary; but if I have to 
go there this time, I swear that you, (Shak¬ 
ing Iris fist in RICHEY’S face.) yes you, 
shall accompany me. 

RICHEY. 

How much do you want? 


277 


DICKSON. 

Not a cent less than another five thousand 
dollars. 

KICHEY 

(■seating himself at his desk caul writing). 
What guarantee have I that you won't come 

O t/ 

hack in a few days and demand more? 


DICKSON. 

You'd have none, if my greed for gain 
were as inordinate as yours; but it is not; 
and, if I tell you that I'm satisfied with 
another five thousand dollars, you can de¬ 
pend on it that I mean what I say. 


RICHEY 

(handing a letter to DICKSON). Take 
this to Dodds, the treasurer of the Standard 
Gas Light Company. He'll give you the 
money. 

DICKSON 

(accepting the letter). Thanks, Mr. 
Richey, and it may not be out of the way to 

let you know, that most of this money will 

«/ / «/ 


278 


be used to bring comfort, in her declining 
years, to the only person, who still bears af¬ 
fection for me,—my mother. 

Exit DICKSON through the door to the 
right . After his departure , RICHEY, with 
an audible sigh, leans back in his chair. 

Enter MARY RICHEY through the door 
to the left. 


MARY RICHEY. 


Brother. 

RICHEY 


(looking up ). Let me alone. 


MARY RICHEY. 
You seem to be in distress. 


RICHEY 
( 9ruffly ) • Never mind. 


MARY RICHEY. 

Think of the days when we were children 
and confided all our childish woes to each 


279 


other. Imagine that we are children again, 
and that I come to yon and ask: (Patting 
her arms around RICHEY’S neck.) What 
is the matter, brother dear? 

RICHEY. 

It is impossible for me to tell you my 
troubles. The more I endeavor to extricate 
myself from them, the more, I’m afraid, I 
shall become involved. My most intimate 
friends are down on me. 

MARY RICHEY. 

There are still three persons on whom 
you may rely,—Ella, myself, and— 


RICHEY. 


And? 

MARY RICHEY. 


Rector. 


RICHEY 

(in surprise). Rector? The man whom 
I insulted! 


280 


MARY RICHEY. 


His love for Ella bars any feeling of re¬ 
sentment. 


RICHEY 


(in surprise). Does lie still hope to 
marry lier? 


MARY RICHEY. 

Why shouldn’t lie, when his love is so ar¬ 
dently reciprocated? He only went to New 
Y r ork, because he saw better prospects there 
to gain a position, that would enable him to 
support a wife. 


RICHEY 

(in surprise). What? 

MARY RICHEYC 

They have corresponded all the while. 
(With a smile.) Cupid, you know, laughs 
at all efforts to prevent loving hearts from 
communicating, and Rector probably loves 
Ella more than ever, after finding out what 


281 


a devoted daughter she is. She enlisted his 
aid in your behalf, as soon as she learned 
that he was in the City. 


RICHEY. 

Where,—where are they? 

MARY RICHEY. 

Not far away. (Going to the door to the 
right.) Come in, children. 

Enter ELLA RICHEY and RECTOR 
through the door to the right. 

RICHEY. 

Ella,—Rector? 

RECTOR 

(as MARY RICHEY leads him and 
ELLA RICHEY to RICHEY, to the lat¬ 
ter). Let by-gones be by-gones, Mr. Richey. 


282 


ELLA RICHEY 


(kissing her father). Please, clear papa, 
let Alfred assist you in getting out of your 
business troubles. 


RICHEY" 

(to RECTOR). I have to acknowledge 
that Mr. Carver lias the advantage, and that 
our lighting contract with the City will 
only be renewed if we comply with his 
terms, and—I admit that they are fair. 


ELLA RICHEY. 

And let me tell you, papa, it was Mr. Car¬ 
ver who saved us from harm, perhaps even 
death, in that runaway accident, years ago. 


RICHEY 

(in surprise). Is it possible that he was 

the young man who stopped the horses and 

resolutely refused a reward? 

*/ 


283 


ELLA EICHEY. 


Yes, papa. 

RICHEY 

(to ELLA RICHEY). Then I must see 
him; I will call on him to-day. 


RECTOR 


(to RICHEY). He will be delighted, 
Mr. Iiichev. 

RICHEY 

(to RECTOR). I'm very sorry for having 
spoken to you as I did when you were here 
last. (He stretches out his hand to REC¬ 
TOR). 


RECTOR 


(clasping RICHEY’S .hand). It was 
presumptuous for me, a young, struggling 
attorney, to aspire to the hand of your 
daughter. 


284 


ELLA RICHEY 


(to RECTOR). Please, Alfred, don’t 
talk that way. 


MARY RICHEY 

(to ELLA RICHEY and RECTOR). If 
you commence to quarrel already, children, 
where will it end? 


RECTOR 


(taking hold of MARY RICHEY’S 
hand). In happiness and joy, with a guar¬ 
dian-angel like you near us. 

ELLA RICHEY 

(kissing her aunt). Dearest auntie! 
MARY RICHEY 

(taking hold of the hands of ELLA 

RICHEY and RECTOR and leading them 

to RICHEY, to the latter). They are 

worthy of each other. 

•> 


285 


RICHEY 


(grasping the hands of ELLA RICHEY 
and RECTOR, to ELLA). My daughter. 
(To RECTOR.) My son. (Joining the 
hands of ELLA RICHEY and RECTOR.) 
My children. 

9S 


(The curtain drops.) 


286 





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